Luang Prabang - Please Don't Make Me Leave Here!

Luang Prabang is the former capital of Laos and upon arrival it is easy to see why this beautiful location would have been selected as the country’s premier city. The town is shaped somewhat like an outstretched finger, the peninsula bounded on one side by the Mekong river and the on other the Nam Khan River. At the centre of the old town rests Phu Si, a one hundred metre high hillock that rises up and is capped by the temple That Chomsi. The journey up to the temple consists of about 300 steps which I foolishly undertook at midday when the temperature was a balmy 36 degrees. Halfway up I thought I was I was going to collapse from hyperthermia. Nevertheless the views from the top are fantastic and no doubt far better at dawn and sunset.

We arrived in Luang Prabang at about 5.30pm and managed to find a guesthouse with our erstwhile friend K (“Call me K” says his business card) from Seoul, South Korea. K was a fantastic fellow, gregarious and loquacious with a natural enthusiasm about pretty much everything, especially South Korea. Before I met K South Korea was not a destination I had really given any great thought to, but from our conversations about the people, the country and the food I am now more than curious. We talked about Korea’s history, the current situation, food of course and the hospitality with which South Koreans treat guests to their country. K, if you read this and fancy a career change, there is a bright future for you in marketing the myriad delights of your county!

Our guest house was the Kuang Si, located just behind the night market and a short walk from the leafy banks of the Mekong River. Clean and conveniently located the guest house was ticked most of the boxes for us and also supplied free drinking water and as many bananas as you could wish to scoff. A half hour walk from there along the Mekong brings you to the Nam Khan / Mekong confluence and the wonderful bamboo bridge that crosses the river, weighted down with boulders and creaking with every step that you take across. Our accommodation here cost us 60 000 Kipp per day, which works out to about £5.00. Coming from Zimbabwe I find the Laotian currency pretty easy to deal with, our denominations put those of Lao to shame. We talk in millions and trillions, thousands are nothing!

In spite of France’s colonisation of Laos there seemed to be relatively few hangovers from this era in Luang Prabang. One immediate pointer to the French era is that they drive on the right hand side of the road so we were constantly looking the wrong way when crossing over, narrowly avoiding an undignified end from the business end of a scooter. Some of the government buildings still bear French names beneath the Laotian script, as do some of the cafes and guest houses, though more commonly the names are displayed in English. No one seems to speak French bar a few of the old timers, indeed the closest I came to discovering any living remnants of French culture consisted of various games of petang taking place among the shaded sidewalks and the Laotian coffee that drunk black was as strong as Biblical Samson. The architecture too displayed some the colonial influence and the old buildings, many of them now guesthouses, give the town a rustic grandeur that is especially beautiful at dawn and sunset. The rivers are lined by trees and cafes, the atmosphere is very relaxed and whilst the 11.30 curfew on the bars can be an irritant the bowling alley stays open until much later, somehow having avoided the draconian ruling on closing time. The UNESCO World Heritage status of the town also means that there is very little traffic in the town, and what traffic there is predominantly confined to scooters on the wrong side of the road.

We spent six days in Luang Prabang and in many ways I felt that maybe we left a bit too quickly, we were however aware of the thirty day visa that we have and the fact that there are many other places we want to get to in this magnificently beautiful country. Luang Prabang is definitely a town I would like to go back to though, life is unhurried and being a boulevardier in this town holds a definite appeal. It is quaint and hospitable, has a wealth of culture and is, as the Lonely Planet points out, a tonic for the soul.

There are numerous other impressions of the city that I will take away, the ineluctable tuk-tuk drivers who patrol the streets (“Tuk-tuk, Waterfall? Where you go?”) and the scorching, humid heat. Between about mid-day and three o’clock it is pointless trying to do anything other than wilting away in a café or attempting a siesta. One of the six worldly possessions of the Lao Thevada monks is an umbrella, which seemed bizarre to me until I took a midday stroll. Then it made a whole lot of sense. The umbrella had nothing to do with rain, it was all about keeping the beating sun off of your head. On the flip side of the heat though is the fact the a large bottle of chilled Beer Lao costs you about 10 000 kipp, which is less than 1 GBP and litre for litre cheaper than a can of coke. Indeed one of the bars has the slogan “Drink like a fish for the price of water!” which is not far from the truth. More importantly than the beer and infinitely more rewarding than the beer prices are the number of initiatives that have been set up in order to help the less privileged and economically challenged communities in LP. An example of this is the Big Brother Mouse which encourages students to read and talk in English with a view to furthering their education and improving their opportunities in life. The fact that the emphasis in on English I guess is an indication of far behind the French influence

is being left. Travellers can come into Big Brother Mouse and buy books in Laotian and English translation to distribute to school children who do not own any books. Rather than handing out money and candy to kids, books and education are encouraged. Six days a week travellers passing through can volunteer two hours of their time to go and help out with conversational English and help the Laotian students with their reading, writing and English conversation skills. It is a humbling experience, when Nipun and I went I spoke to a student whose day started at 6.00am every day and ended at midnight (he also worked as a security guard to gain some form of income), however he still managed to come and study every day in the hope of bettering his opportunities. Several other organisations exist along similar lines in Luang Prabang with the aim of helping the society, there was so much on offer to get involved with.

Our days were generally very busy here, along with every other tourist to LP we spent a day at the Sang Phet Waterfall (“Tuk-tuk, waterfall, where you go?”) where we swam the whole day and swung from ropes and jumped from waterfalls into the pools below. We visited the stunning Royal Palace Museum which was formerly the residence of King Sisavanvong and then later his son Savang Vattana. In 1975 after the revolution in Lao Savang was exiled to the North and never heard of again. Such is the beauty of the town that I manager to get up twice at 5.30am to photograph dawn and the daily procession of the monks with their alms bowls that takes place at 6.00am. Sunsets were mostly spent down by the confluence of the rivers, watching the Laotians swimming and making long exposure photos of the water reflecting the sky. The tripod has been a real pain to carry around at times but I have no regrets about my decision to bring it. We rented bicycles by day and enjoyed the food of the night market in the evenings.

Earlier today (12th May) we left Luang Prabang for Vang Vieng, another breath taking location amongst dramatic limestome Karsts and situated on the banks of the Nam Song River. The rich and fertile alluvial soil means ensures a rich and colourful setting with a wealth of greenery and trees. The town itself remains to be explored in any detail. Many people dislike this as it has become an epicentre for backpackers and has therefore been transformed into a very commercial town of bars, guest houses and eateries. The bars show re-runs of American TV shows such as Friends (I thought this bit of the travel guide might be outdated, but no) and there is an Aussie Bar, an Irish Bar and who knows what else. I imagine that it will take very little effort to get out of town and into the country side.

The Bouncer

“[His eyes were] green in colour, and of a peculiarly metallic glint, which caused them, as we shook hands, to be exploring my person for good spots to hit. What was probably intended to be the smile that wins, appeared to me a grim and sardonic twist of the lip. Take him for all in all, I had never met a man so calculated to convert the most truculent swashbuckler to pacifism as a glance; and when I recalled Ukridge’s story of the little unpleasantness at Marseilles and realized that a mere handful of half a dozen able bodied seamen had had the temerity to engage this fellow in personal conflict, it gave me a thrill of patriotic pride.”

PG Wodehouse: Ukridge

The cross over into from Chiang Khong on the Thai border and into Huay Xai, Laos was remarkably straight forward and easy. At half past eight in the morning we were picked up and then whisked across to the river crossing point. From here we were then taken across the Mekong River on long boats. Bored officials stamped put passports for US$35.00 each and then all the travellers congregated together in a small shop to wait for enough people to fill our slow boat.

What became immediately obvious is that Laos is certainly not the road that is seldom trod anymore. Each boat can take about fifty people and we and our fellow backpackers filled two boats on a random Monday morning. We were gullible enough to book a room in advance for the nightly stop over in Pak Beng when we crossed over and during our wait a charismatic Laotian took the opportunity to warn all the travellers that Pak Beng was a den of inequity and bustling with thieves straight out of the Arabian Nights. “There are many thieves” he quoth, “that will separate you from your baggage and make away with it in no time at all.” And then “Make sure your room is locked, and that the windows are sealed closed. Carry your valuables with you at all times.” I hugged my camera bag that little bit closer to my side. The rest can go, I am tired of carrying it. This little man then went on to tell us about his guest house in Pak Beng, apparently clean, safe and hospitable. It was, I was relieved to note, the same place that we had already booked. In retrospect I would argue all of those points. Our room smelt of urine, the staff had offered me weed (“Hey my freeend something nice to schmoke?”) twice before I even made it up the hill from the boat (dudes, I DON’T smoke! Not even cigarettes, they make me feel ill!) and when we refused to stay there a sturdy, strong in the arm (very) thick in the head gentleman challenged me to a bout of fisticuffs. I declined but I am getting ahead of myself.

We were still in Huay Xai, the Laos side of the border. “Usually our rooms are 500 Baht a night” our host intoned, “but for now it is off season and they are only 300. Additionally Pak Beng is very small, not many guest houses and the electricity goes off at 10 o’clock. It is better for you if you reserve a room here and then you know you are safe.” I patted myself on the shoulder and for the six hours we were on the boat I felt comforted that the thieves and villains of Pak Beng would have been foiled by boy scout-ish preparedness. The slow boat journey is beautiful with forests on either side of the river and the occasional village, but Koko had been right. After all the Mekong is the twelfth largest river in the world and though our section was comparatively small it still took us from Thailand deep into Laos.

The river itself is a hive of activity with everything from food to trucks being transported along on a variety of boats. On the shores villages spring up as you round in bends of the river and occasionally our boat would stop to allow vendors on who sold food and drinks to the travellers. The amount of life on and around the river was fascinating but three and a half hours in and my bony behind ached as though I had been caned (this from the cramped benches) and I found myself coveting the cards of our neighbours. I read, shifted from side to side, had a couple of large bottles of beers (ok, four) and then finally we were toiling up the banks of Pak Beng towards the promised comforts of Bounmee.

“Bounmee Rooms, 150 Baht” a chorus of touts cried out. In my finest PG Wodehousian tone I heard myself saying “What ho? 150 Baht?” We had been charged three hundred. Upon arrival we kicked up a fuss. We demanded to pay 150, but no, they would (reluctantly) go down to two hundred. They showed us a room redolent of stale urine with a broken fan and still demanded 200 baht. Nipun went to have a word (several in fact, and created a stink not entirely unlike the one in our room) and was told by a Laotian brute of a man that “You are one woman and he is one man in Laos. You do not live here. I will make your stay in Lao very difficult.” We managed to get our deposit back and went in search of alternative lodging, pausing only to tell the man that had tried to intimidate Nipun that I was a journalist and he should look out for the latest copies of the Rough Guide and Lonely Planet when they came out. He went doo-lally and the next thing I knew he was trying to get me to put down my backpack so we could escalate our discussion to the next level. Given that he was an ogre of a man and had “a face like boiled meat” I passed up the opportunity to trade blows with him. I legged it, and quickly at that, though in secret I was delighted with how riled I had got him after he had threatened Nipun. Later, dinner at the local Indian restaurant proved to be true to form with three separate tables having to argue their bills and us included after that. We did not need an alarm clock to wake us to quit that ghastly town. On the boat we heard further horror stories about Bounmee, with rooms with no hot water, lights that did not work and a general inhospitable demeanour from my erstwhile friend the boxer. No doubt he was stewing away and thinking long and deep on how he would like to boil my guts up in a cauldron and brand me with red hot pokers.

After another nine bum crushing hours on the slow boat the next day we arrived in Luang Prabang, the former capital of Lao and a World Heritage site. It is the antithesis of Pak Beng and having been here for three days now we love it. More on that later.

Chiang Mai to Chiang Khong

Our last days in Chiang Mai seemed to have passed in a blur.  Some of our time was spent investigating the best route into Laos and we decided, with the help of Mr Koko of the Chiang Mai TIC travel agency, that the most practical way to travel would be North to Chiang Khong by minibus and then down the Mekong River by slow boat as far as Luang Prabang.  In all the journey would take three days, one on the minibus and then two on the slow boat heading west to the former capital of Laos, Luang Prabang.  

Mr Koko had done the journey personally, was enthusiastic and came across as a reliable and trustworthy source of information which can be as refreshing as a swim to the traveller. He was full of useful tips such as don’t get the cheapest room in Pakbeng “like I did - it had rats, all night I could hear them crawling around the room” and to take some cards and a MP3 player.  “The first few hours on the boat” he explained “are great. Mountains! The River! The jungle!! But after the first four hours you start going crazy. Take cards!” In retrospect Mr Koko was a very good source of information and he was right in pretty much everything he told us.  He was especially right about Pakbeng, a one horse town of thieves and braggarts if first impressions are anything to go by. To coin a Tom Waits album name, the term Beggars, Bastards and Brawlers

comes to mind.

Koko also advised us on taking a zip line adventure day. Nipun had been reading up on the “Flight of the Gibbon,” a New Zealand Company that had put zip lines into an area of the jungle that allowed you to whiz your way across the valleys and forests. Again Mr Koko had an enthusiastic opinion and pointed us in the direction of a new company called Jungle Flight.  Unbeknown to us this venture had been recently set up by Songpram, the same man behind the Chiang Mai Thai Cookery School. Songpram is a really amiable and affable man who had been on the Flight of the Gibbon adventure course and found it wanting for one reason or another. Being an entrepreneurial soul (and egged on by his young son who thought this would be better than any jungle gym) within six months he had found himself a place in the jungle, investors and builders prepared to work through the Chiang Mai rainy season. Within eight months (and after much alleged intimidation and nastiness from some of his competitors) he and the investors were open for business.  

The course  is set deep in the jungle with a verdant forest on all sides. The hills and valleys are dramatic and one of the cable lines spans close on 300 metres. You are harnessed onto the cable and then launch yourself across the jungle and above deep valleys with trees arching up beneath you.  As much as anything the setting makes the day worthwhile, whilst the white knuckled, adrenaline charged rides across the jungle merely add to the adventure of the day.  We were lucky enough to be there on the day when there was a PR Agency doing a brochure and as such we tried out a whole new section of the course and then were treated to as much lunch as we could possibly eat. 

The rest of our time in Chiang Mai was spent fairly lazily, meandering through the markets, eating and enjoying a stress free travel schedule for a few days. We met a young monk, Nan, who maintained that he’d like some help with his English so we spent a few hours with him on various days. Despite bringing his text books to each informal lesson Nan studiously avoided his text books, his delectation was to talk and try out new catch phrases that he had learnt. So it was “By all means I can do that” and “It would be to my advantage to do this” for three days. What did strike me about Nan was his enthusiasm to chat in English, he had only been learning for two years and a lot of his English was self taught. He was half way through a text book that fell outside of his work requirement and that in itself is admirable. Whilst he could not have been more than eighteen he had been a monk for six years and a novice for two. The monasteries afforded him a living in Chiang Mai and a chance to gain an education. How different was his attitude to the peitit bourgeois that we were as kids.

And then we were on the road again. Driving out of Chiang Mai I was struck by how much I liked this town and I felt a little sad to be leaving it behind. Generally the people were polite and friendly, the roads were well maintained and lined with flowers and trees and as we drove through the suburbs there were ubiquitous markets and Wats that glowed with colour. In a chaotic contradiction of all this order the phone lines above consisted of massed, indistinguishable cables and occasional street kids patrolled the traffic lights selling strings of white flower necklaces to anyone who would take one. Five uneventful hours later we were further up North on the border with Laos at Chiang Khong. The Mekong River was a ten minute walk from our guest house and we spent the evening watching the sunset over the river as longboats lazily docked around us. The next morning we were up well in advance of dawn to photograph sunrise. The sun rose and it was beautiful. I would love to include some of these pictures of that sparkling dawn here, but in a moment of utter genius I formatted the memory card without having put them onto the laptop.  I was tired and multi tasking. Poor excuse I know but there we go. Given we were up at five thirty you have very little idea of just how annoyed I am. 

Thanks (but can I have a new liver?)

This here is Brad, Brad Pike to be specific. I think the last time I saw Brad was in Zimbabwe at my farewell party before I left Zimbabwe. I was indulging myself in a couple of frothy tops in Rob De Ridder's lounge when Brad was leaving the party. I heard his truck start up and then a metallic thud as he reversed into someone. I started to laugh until someone in the room said "I don't know what you're snickering at, it was your car he just drove into."

Well that shut me up PDQ. As to the car, the damage was insignificant and a couple of weeks later the vehicle was written off when a fully grown Doberman sauntered into the road when I was driving home. Sadly things didn't turn out so peachy for the Doberman either. At the time I was livid for all the wrong reasons (IE the car being totalled) but looking back I just feel sorry for the dog. Insurance paid up for the vehicle and that in turn paid for my ticket to the UK and everything seems to have fallen into place for a reason. Unless of course you were a doberman whose moronic owners proved incapable of keeping you off a busy road.

Brad in the interim had moved to Australia and set up a new life with his family there, working mostly out of Chiang Mai in Thailand as part of the tobacco trade and travelling between Australia and Thailand for work and family reasons. Needless to say when we knew that we were making this trip emails were sent and luckily our timing co-incided with his and one Friday night we met up and things got a bit messy. We commenced play at the Un-Irish Bar and ended up at Spiceys, a late night joint that sells beer and plays bad music I am told. Between the two venues I could have been taken to Timbuktu for all I know.

The fun did not end here. A couple of nights later we went to watch some Muay Thai and lost all our bets through a combination of picking bad fighters and a very apparent and unsubtle amount of fight fixing that seemed to be taking place. I bumped into one of the fighters later, a behemoth of an Irish fellow who had been ahead on points and then just quit at the end of the second round. Literally. He just heaved his shoulders and dropped out of the fight. He was half way through munching a hot dog at Mikes Kithchen when I saw him.
"What happened" I cried, "you were doing so well, you were ahead on points."

"An old time injury started playing up" he winced.

"But you were ahead on points" I exclaimed, exasperated.

"Thanks," he said somewhat sheepishly.

"Thanks?!!!!! Thanks? I had money on you, you great poltroon," I wanted to cry. I say "wanted" as he was quite large both up and across and mean looking and I suspect that if I goaded him too much he might suddenly forget his old injury and decided to engage me in mortal combat.

The most alarming thing about the Muay Thai was not the rampant match fixing though. It was the fact that out of six fights three involved little kids of about eight, pounding each other with everything that they had. And the crowd loved it! If I put something like this up on Youtube then I would be sent to gaol, but it happens here three times a week.

A third time out with Brad ended prematurely when I ran away (to be fair Nipun was very unwell having picked up a dodgy tummy) early, but I still felt deathly the next day. But that aside this is meant to be about Mr Pike, who quotes Shakespeare when he drinks ("Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war") and inisists on picking up bar tabs that are not his. So thanks Brad, and when we hopefully see you in the UK it will be on us. But I suspect that there will time for a few more catch up sessions between now and Monday when we leave. So please, let us pay this time! Oh, and any chance of a new liver?

Of Elephants, Snakes and Temples

“We also have a circus” he said. “Also a school for animal training.” This interested me greatly, since I have a loathing for everything associated with performing animals.” I have never seen a lion tamer who did not deserve to be mauled; and when I see a little mutt, wearing a skirt and a frilly bonnet, and skittering through a hoop, I am thrilled by a desire for its tormentor (in the glittering pantsuit) to contract rabies.

Paul Theroux - Riding the Iron Rooster

It is hard to believe but we have now been in Chiang Mai for just shy of two weeks. The Rough Guide has a few warnings from the wise regarding Chiang Mai. It would appear that Chiang Mai is to the traveller what Calypso’s island was to Odysseus. An anticipated short stay turns into an unexpectedly long sojourn, and whilst you know that you should be getting on with your journey, it becomes difficult to leave. The pace of life is relaxing, the people friendly and the hospitality second to none. The other warning that the Rough Guide bundles in is regarding the food. “The main difficulty with eating in Chiang Mai is knowing when to stop.” And how true that is. Be it the street market food with barbequed chicken and pork, spiced to perfection, or the local specialities, the food is ambrosial.

It has to be admitted that during this two week stay my attempts to keep this site up to date have flagged somewhat. By and large we have been kept very busy, taking in the local town markets and Wats, the night markets, a cooking school and an elephant and snake show. My thanks to Mr Theroux for providing the quotation above whose eloquence sums up my general feeling for performing freaks of nature. Coming from a family that has bred parrots for generations my brothers are well aware that if it were up to me I would open the aviaries and set the birds free, and elephants, lets face it, should be respected and not made to paint pictures with their trunks. The snake park was more depressing and on this point I can only hope that in future when I see somebody manhandling a snake and swinging it around his shoulders by its tail, that he will shortly rue the day he chose this trade. Nothing personal but treat animals well, please. Sure, if you have a python the size of a baobab beneath your house, get a snake handler in. But do not chuck them in cages and watch them become gradually more and more diseased until their snouts are disintegrating. And is it really that ingenious to taunt a king cobra three times a day? Sure, there is a lot of skill involved and frankly of you asked me to do it you’d get a very short and pusillanimous response, but really. I would love to say that the crocodile handler at the snake park just outside Harare had learnt his lesson. A year after losing his arm to one of his captives he was still prodding our reptilian friends about with a pole though, grinning like a troglodyte who has just half discovered the powers of fire. He was clearly not a man to whom the saying “Once bitten, twice shy” was applicable.

The Elephant Farm was not so bad in spite of my diatribe. Many of the elephants are orphans and the Indian Elephants have a far more agreeable and compliant nature than their African counterparts. Some of the show was pure cheese, the aforementioned painting show (sadly the elephants failing to plunge a paintbrush through the eye of their trainers), elephants doffing their hats and walking around in circles tail to trunk. When they started to kick a large plastic football around though you began to get an understanding of their immense power, and whilst watching them stack and pile enormous logs it was hard not to be impressed by their grace, power and the precision with which they were handled. I find this kind of work orientated display easier to reconcile than cheap tricks, yet I was in the minority it would appear. The marauding masses seemed quite bored by this part of the show, but when the straw hats came out they became euphoric once more. Our tuk tuk driver, Adoon Ireland, tried to get us to go to a Monkey Show too, but by this stage I was practically ready to the monkeys dirty work for him so instead we went back into town and did the cultural stuff (in other words we went to another Wat). Adoon was a likeable fellow, gregarious and with a mischievous laugh that always made you wonder if you were at the brunt of some arcane joke. The “Ireland” part of his name seems to have come from the fact that he lived in Dublin for five odd years working as a construction worker before he found himself struggling to find gainful employment and returned to Thailand. He was no fan of the Irish winter either so I suspect that leaving Ireland was not the end of the world for him. He now drives a tuk tuk with a Bob Marley sticker emblazoned across the side and willingly chats away about most things other than politics. Try as I may he would only shake his head on this one and remain very non committal. This seems to be a common trait. Our other taxi driver was Mr Chai and he too was happy to chew the fat about anything else but. Mr Chai was a cunning one. He offered to take us around town for 100 baht (GBP 2.00) which seemed far to cheap. What we did not know was that every factory shop in Chiang Mai seemed to bankroll him. For every tourist he bought to their shop he received a fuel coupon. As such, he was very eager to show us around, indeed far too eager at times. In his defence he was completely honest about this and our 100 baht jaunt would have cost a lot more if this was not the case. After looking at silverware, gold, brass ware, ceramics, lacquer ware, leather and umbrellas I suspect that he had enough fuel to last the rest of the month. What was interesting on these trips was meeting the apparently large Nepalese community that now reside in Chiang Mai. Chiamg Mai has welcomed them as part of a co-operative scheme in the interest of diversifying the already burgeoning handicraft market that exists. They were nice guys, displaced from home but making a go of it abroad. Once we got past the aggressive sales bit they relaxed a lot and were very open and easy to speak to. Like everyone else at the moment they are finding things difficult, the global recession has caught up with them and they seem to be willing to sell most of their stuff off as cheaply as they can just to help cash flow. Whether that was just sales talk or not I guess I will never know, but at the end we were chatting pretty frankly.

We ended up at Bo Sang, the area where a large proportion of the Thai umbrellas are made. The umbrellas are made from either silk, paper or cotton with bamboo shafts. The fabric is then hand painted and varnished to make it water resistant. Like all the Thai crafts that we saw that afternoon the umbrellas were that beautiful that you feel compelled to reach into your pocket and say “Yes! Please! How much!?” Unlike all the places though the compulsion at Bo Sang beat common sense around the head and we are now the proud owner of a silk umbrella. Nice.

In the last couple of days Nipun and I have largely been at cooking school. We took different days, firstly capitalise on doing two days each and as such getting four days of knowledge between us, and secondly to have a bit of downtime where we can get around a bit by ourselves. The cooking school was a great experience and makes me wish we were returning home to our own kitchen in some ways. Travelling can be great, but it is over a month since we ate a home cooked meal and a wardrobe seems like such a very precious commodity.

We have also been up Doi Suthep, the mountain that is crowned by Wat Phra That. Upon arrival there are three hundred stairs to ascend and then you reach the Wat proper. Quite honestly it has to be said that the three hundreds steps pale in comparison to the journey up to the Monkey (Jakhu) Temple in Shimla. The Wat is very beautiful, as are all the Wats we have been to. The vibrancy and attention to detail is again awe inspiring and whilst sometimes ruins can be more beautiful than a glistening, well maintained building, I would argue that Wat Phra That is an exception to this. The fact that it is built so high up and on a seeming precipice is again very impressive, as you look over the edge there are long ridges of concrete reinforcing that support the build. 1000 metres below via a short but serpentine route is Chiang Mai. The road bends and twists so much that upon arriving at the Wat both Nipun and I felt nauseous! In the week that lies ahead we plan to go hiking in the hills outside Chiang Mai and then start looking onwards and upwards towards Laos. Whilst Chiang Mai has been great if we do not shake this gentle contentment we find ourselves here next year, wondering if the money will last that much longer and how much we can get as teachers.

Happy Songkran!

Alas I am a bit behind on the whole blog at the moment, a combination of having been really busy (what DO travellers do all day?), sporadic internet connection and an inability to get onto the blog from the hotel and hence the laptop where all the images and text are saved! USB keys don't work as our Operating system is Vista and this has Microsoft works and all the internet cafes have an older Operating system that cannot open the aforementioned. And I'm lazy, the truth will indeed out. In response to this a picture is apparently worth a thousand words and so I'll bung down a couple of those and I'll chuck in a video clip from Songkran, the biggest water fight in the world. That should easily bulk it all up a bit! Songkran by the way is the business. It rocks.

Journey from Hell Part II

Our original plan had been to arrive in Bangkok early on the 9th April and then take an overnight train straight through to Chiang Mai in the North of the country. Upon arriving at Hualamphong Train Station in Bangkok it became very obvious that this was not going to happen. Alas, owing to the New Year festivities of Songkran the first train that we could get out of Bangkok was on the 13th, so we had four days to kill in Bangkok. In itself this was no problem, Bangkok is a town that neither of us are that familiar with and as such it gave a chance to explore the city, albeit with the Red Shirts in town running amok and burning buses and generally antagonising the police in all manner of ways (for my own part I imagine that I would react rather unkindly towards anyone throwing a fire bomb in my direction). But being what Morrissey would have referred to as the “Lazy Sunbathers” in his heyday (which for me was Vauxhall and I), we were fairly oblivious to the disquiet downtown more or less up until the time that we were meant to start heading out towards the station.

Our train was scheduled to depart from Hualamphong Station in Bangkok at 1800, however as we arrived back at out Guest House we were told to check if this was still the case by a couple of people. I legged it across the road to the station (only to have a bucket of water thrown at me by the cleaning lady and her companions, Happy New Year to you too) to be told that the train had been cancelled and would not be going anywhere, whilst the next available train would be in three days time. I pleaded. The bored ticket sales man looked on, wholeheartedly unsympathetic. After all it was a bank holiday, he had to work and I was clearly being a difficult customer asking stupid questions. “The train is full hombre, get lost,” his expressionless face said. He flicked through pages of trains on the screen, all with no availability. And then he had a brain wave. If we did not take the sleeper option and went for a reclining chair then could leave the same evening at 2230 and save money too. We would have to leave from Bang Sue at the other side of the metro as no trains were leaving from Hualamphong due the red shirts, but other than that, happy days. Why we not offered this option from the outset was a murky, swampy, pestilence ridden topic that I did not want to go in. We did the refund, got the new tickets and I went back to the lodge to explain the news.

At 9 o’clock we found ourselves at Bang Sue Station in eager anticipation of our 2230 train, which was now leaving at 2300. The station was rammed with people all congregated on the open platforms beneath the stars and sharing the balmy evening with the mosquitoes. This was no glamorous, modern station by any means. It was functional spit and sawdust stuff. At 2300 our train was said to be leaving at midnight. And then I got talking to some of the other people on the platform. It was now 1100pm. Many of the people I spoke to had been at the station since 1900. At midnight very little had happened but apparently (sun?)light was at the end of the tunnel and we would be on our way by 0100. People were now sleeping on the tarmac platforms all around us. Soon Nipun joined them for a brief nap. At 0200 there was still no train and by three I was losing the will to live. By four I was hopeful that I may see the sun come up over Bangkok, by five though the predawn light showed me in sufficient detail that whilst I might get to photograph dawn, there was not much of interest to take a picture of. We were in Bangkok’s ugliest corner. It has to be said that the occasional train did show up and depart, infrequently, late and after sitting at the respective platform for an hour. And by about 0500 I had really kind of lost all interest.

The sun came up at just before six and we were still on hand to shoot it. Like the station, I can say that I was there and it was ugly. But at least I have some proof that I have been up for sunrise in Bangkok. At about seven that morning we finally pulled out of Bang Sue and were on our way to Chiang Mai. I must admit that doing the train during the day offered some really stunning views that we would have missed on a sleeper train. We passed through paddy fields of rice and other grain crops, lakes and rivers all of which we would not have seen by night. But again part of me has to admit that we were too tired to do anything other than recline in our semi-reclining chairs and hope that the journey would be relatively painless and quick which it mostly was. About one hundred kilometers outside Chiang Mai we had to leave the train for a bus as our train was required back in Bangkok again. The bus was AC though and to be fair it was probably quicker. We are now in Chiang Mai and ready to take to the streets for Songkran tomorrow. But for now Goodnight, we are off to sleep!

Final Result: Red shirts 1 / Lazy Sunbathers 0 Referee: BKK Police