After one last night of Thailandness, supping Chang and slurping spicy fish soups with some friendly Australians, we slid across the Mekong river in a longboat and set foot in Laos. It was immediately different to Thailand. We were dumped at a gloomy bus station with two hours to wait till our cramped, rusty bus would depart, feeling a little bit sulky; we’d become too accustomed to air-conditioned efficiency of Thailand.
Luckily, Laos is even more beautiful than everyone says it is. As the bus wiggled its way through the tangle of green trees, lazy brown rivers and jagged peaks, we soon forgot how squashed and sleepy we were.
Four hours later we arrived in Luang Nam Tha, a small town in the north of Laos. We jumped straight in, embarking on a three-day trek in the jungly hills that join Laos to China the following morning. We were joined by another English couple, Aimee and Rick; four Frenches – Anne-Laure, Jean-Phillipe, Herman and Audrey; and our silly, bouncy guides, Bien and Syvon. The guides braved the jungle in flip-flops, knew how to make just about anything from a stick of bamboo, burst into lung-curdling song every five minutes or so and laughed a lot at us sweaty “falangs”.
By day we traipsed through the dense, pulsating jungle, scrambling up muddy slopes and slip-sliding down the other side, teetering across streams and yanking leeches out of our socks. This is what you imagine travelling to be – charging through the jungle with a backpack and a giant stick, cooling off under waterfalls. But it was bloody hard work.
At lunchtime we would stop in a clearing while Bien and Syvon cooked up and laid out a feast on giant banana leaves: sweet gooey pumpkin curry, banana leaf soup, fried fish and sticky rice. Around 4pm each day we’d collapse at a village, our home for the night. The villages were like small farms, home to Akha and Black Tai tribes and their populations of chickens, ducks, pigs and dogs. The villagers live in wooden huts suspended in the sky on sticks. Like them, we bathed in streams before dinner, splashing around and scrubbing ourselves under sarongs.
The first village had no electricity so after a candlelit dinner we passed around shots of Lao-Lao, a rice whisky which makes your chest burn and freeze at the same time, then set off with Bien and Syvon for a spot of frog-hunting. We tiptoed around marshy rice-paddies in the starlight, listening to the frog chorus and blinking at the glimmering fireflies. It was quite lovely until Bien’s holler pierced the darkness: “Falang! How many frogs you have!” Er, none, obviously. Bien had his latest victim in his hand – we covered our eyes as he shoved a long metal stick through its head and threaded it down to join the pile of squirming frogs dangling below. You can guess what was for breakfast. Snails, chicken heads and bugs were all offered up throughout the trek, too – free-range organic wildlife that Joe gobbled up and made me glad to not eat meat.
Still, it was lovely waking up in the middle of nowhere to the mad beeping of fluffy chicks, cackling of a million ducks and grunting of happy pigs. The shy village people were much less vocal but smiley and accommodating.
We were all a mess by the time we arrived back at Luamg Nam Tha with aching legs, scratchy bites and with Bien’s favourite songs ringing in our ears: “I lose control! Because of you! Baby! …Dot dot!” and “I’m not a girl! Not yet a woman!”
Saturday 29 May 2010
Sunday 16 May 2010
Northern delights
Thailand got a lot more fun as we headed northwards. A slidey-seated bus and midnight Seven-Eleven breaks brought us our best friends for the next couple of weeks: Stephan, a bright-eyed Canadian bear; Sammy, an Australian trance-pixie; Julie, a sleepy Norwegian puppy and Anna, a Nottingham lass whose accent reminded me of home-home. We pulled up in Chiang Mai, bleary-eyed at 7am, at a guesthouse which just happened to be really cheap with nice rooms and a ruddy swimming pool. Thailand is so easy!
Chiang Mai is delightful - a nice small city, all clean and friendly and easy to walk around, with an “old city” marked by a moat, dotted with spangly temples, monasteries and markets. The city feels a bit European in places, with canals, a big river and tons of little coffee shops and cocktail bars. The ever-present sleazy sex-tourist bars, 40 degree heat and stray dogs remind you that this is Thailand.
We spent a couple of days exploring the wonderful markets and temples, eating deliciously cheap food and bonding over beers in bars that smelt of dog poo and wee or on the scruffy rooftop of our guesthouse.
We decided to explore the north by scooter, chugging 100-odd miles over the hills to Pai. The trip was really fun and scenic, only marred by Dave falling off and smashing up his scooter when he swerved to avoid a cow. But Pai was beautiful – a twinkly little hippie town tucked into the hills by a lazy river. We stayed in the aptly-titled Golden Huts, right by the river, with a lovely green garden full of flowers and hammocks. We could have stayed for weeks, but alas we had to return the scooters so bezzed it back to Chiang Mai.
Chiang Mai was starting to feel like home, and it was too easy to loll by the pool in the stifling 42 degree heat. So for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to book a day’s downhill mountain biking. We chose a trail for “beginners", but it was a complete nightmare. Scary and uncomfortable, I spent the whole route gripping the brakes in terror, skidding around, bumping into rocks and whimpering. Joe had the time of his life though, so it was worth it…and the scenery was pretty nice. We celebrated surviving with lots of red wine back in the old city.
Dave, Joe and me took a sweaty bus to Chiang Dao, a small jungly town a couple of hours from Chiang Mai which seems to be run by women. Taxi drivers, guest house owners, tour guides...they're all ladies. We stayed there for a night, visiting some damp and tangly caves full of bats and bat poo, then relaxing in the garden of our guest house with only foot-long geckoes for company. We were tucked up in our bungalows by 9pm.
Our friends had slowly gone their separate ways, and Dave was soon flying home. There was only one thing for it – we went to a fish spa. We sat with our legs dangling in tanks of water while shoals of small fishes nibbled the dead skin off our feet. It ticked like hell! Then we undid all the good work with a last night out in Changers, starting with football and margaritas, ending in a trashy, vomit-fragranced club called Spicy with a bottle of Sangsom, surrounded by trendy Thais, drunk sex tourists and dazed travelers humping each other to terrible music.
It’s time to go. I’m ready for a new country and excited about Laos.
Chiang Mai is delightful - a nice small city, all clean and friendly and easy to walk around, with an “old city” marked by a moat, dotted with spangly temples, monasteries and markets. The city feels a bit European in places, with canals, a big river and tons of little coffee shops and cocktail bars. The ever-present sleazy sex-tourist bars, 40 degree heat and stray dogs remind you that this is Thailand.
We spent a couple of days exploring the wonderful markets and temples, eating deliciously cheap food and bonding over beers in bars that smelt of dog poo and wee or on the scruffy rooftop of our guesthouse.
We decided to explore the north by scooter, chugging 100-odd miles over the hills to Pai. The trip was really fun and scenic, only marred by Dave falling off and smashing up his scooter when he swerved to avoid a cow. But Pai was beautiful – a twinkly little hippie town tucked into the hills by a lazy river. We stayed in the aptly-titled Golden Huts, right by the river, with a lovely green garden full of flowers and hammocks. We could have stayed for weeks, but alas we had to return the scooters so bezzed it back to Chiang Mai.
Chiang Mai was starting to feel like home, and it was too easy to loll by the pool in the stifling 42 degree heat. So for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to book a day’s downhill mountain biking. We chose a trail for “beginners", but it was a complete nightmare. Scary and uncomfortable, I spent the whole route gripping the brakes in terror, skidding around, bumping into rocks and whimpering. Joe had the time of his life though, so it was worth it…and the scenery was pretty nice. We celebrated surviving with lots of red wine back in the old city.
Dave, Joe and me took a sweaty bus to Chiang Dao, a small jungly town a couple of hours from Chiang Mai which seems to be run by women. Taxi drivers, guest house owners, tour guides...they're all ladies. We stayed there for a night, visiting some damp and tangly caves full of bats and bat poo, then relaxing in the garden of our guest house with only foot-long geckoes for company. We were tucked up in our bungalows by 9pm.
Our friends had slowly gone their separate ways, and Dave was soon flying home. There was only one thing for it – we went to a fish spa. We sat with our legs dangling in tanks of water while shoals of small fishes nibbled the dead skin off our feet. It ticked like hell! Then we undid all the good work with a last night out in Changers, starting with football and margaritas, ending in a trashy, vomit-fragranced club called Spicy with a bottle of Sangsom, surrounded by trendy Thais, drunk sex tourists and dazed travelers humping each other to terrible music.
It’s time to go. I’m ready for a new country and excited about Laos.
Monday 3 May 2010
Sun, sea and Sangsom
After one final brain-meltingly spicy Bengali breakfast with Hollie and one last eye-boggling taxi ride out of Kolkata - being winked at by rickshaw drivers and marvelling at skinny men shampooing themselves in the gutter in the morning sun - we were on our way to Bangkok.
We were soon happily ensconced in the clean, air-conditioned restfulness of my uncle Andrew, aunty Ros and cousins Chloe and Toby's house in Bangkok. It was just what we needed - a comfy bed, homemade cookies courtesy of Toby, cold beer, a big swimming pool and trashy TV.
Two days later we made our way to Ko Samet. This is the closest little island to Bangkok, so was a perfect place to await delayed-by-Icelandic-volcanoes-Dave's arrival. It's hard to find a beach in Thailand which isn't beautiful, but Ko Samet's must be way up there: powdery white sand, warm, clear sea, shade from palm trees, fruit and pancake sellers ambling by. We spent our days lazing under the trees, and our nights doing what you do on a Thai island - sitting on cushions listening to bad music, drinking cocktail buckets and making friends.
It is ruddy hot in Thailand - I don't know why I thought it would be cooler than the subcontinent! And giant snappy mosquitoes add to the discomfort.
We scurried back to Bangkok to meet Dave, staying in sleazy sex-tourist-land, Sukhumvit, in a hotel with a very retro swimming pool and a staunch anti-sex-tourist policy. We peeked at the Red Shirt protests, and it was hard to see what all the fuss was about - it was more like a little festival, with peaceful protesters selling souvenir t-shirts and DVDs. We didn't hang around, though - we headed to Ko Chang for a few more days of seaside.
Ko Chang is (obviously) beautiful - sea as warm as a bubble bath and jungly hills rising to meet the hazy blue sky. More of the obscene heat, though. It's hard to relax when your brain is constantly melting and seeping out of your face. Chang is even more of a party town than Samet, and the music is slightly better, so we enjoyed some delicious ice cream cocktails and disgusting free Sangsom.
We escaped the heat one day by scootering to a waterfall with a pool of cold, dark water underneath, perfect for swimming in and if I sat on the slippery rocks for long enough, little fish came to nibble my feet. We also spent a day on a boat snorkelling between islands. That was when the monsoon chose to poke out a teasing oar - we ended the day shivering under towels as thunder crashed around us. It was bloody lovely.
We were soon happily ensconced in the clean, air-conditioned restfulness of my uncle Andrew, aunty Ros and cousins Chloe and Toby's house in Bangkok. It was just what we needed - a comfy bed, homemade cookies courtesy of Toby, cold beer, a big swimming pool and trashy TV.
Two days later we made our way to Ko Samet. This is the closest little island to Bangkok, so was a perfect place to await delayed-by-Icelandic-volcanoes-Dave's arrival. It's hard to find a beach in Thailand which isn't beautiful, but Ko Samet's must be way up there: powdery white sand, warm, clear sea, shade from palm trees, fruit and pancake sellers ambling by. We spent our days lazing under the trees, and our nights doing what you do on a Thai island - sitting on cushions listening to bad music, drinking cocktail buckets and making friends.
It is ruddy hot in Thailand - I don't know why I thought it would be cooler than the subcontinent! And giant snappy mosquitoes add to the discomfort.
We scurried back to Bangkok to meet Dave, staying in sleazy sex-tourist-land, Sukhumvit, in a hotel with a very retro swimming pool and a staunch anti-sex-tourist policy. We peeked at the Red Shirt protests, and it was hard to see what all the fuss was about - it was more like a little festival, with peaceful protesters selling souvenir t-shirts and DVDs. We didn't hang around, though - we headed to Ko Chang for a few more days of seaside.
Ko Chang is (obviously) beautiful - sea as warm as a bubble bath and jungly hills rising to meet the hazy blue sky. More of the obscene heat, though. It's hard to relax when your brain is constantly melting and seeping out of your face. Chang is even more of a party town than Samet, and the music is slightly better, so we enjoyed some delicious ice cream cocktails and disgusting free Sangsom.
We escaped the heat one day by scootering to a waterfall with a pool of cold, dark water underneath, perfect for swimming in and if I sat on the slippery rocks for long enough, little fish came to nibble my feet. We also spent a day on a boat snorkelling between islands. That was when the monsoon chose to poke out a teasing oar - we ended the day shivering under towels as thunder crashed around us. It was bloody lovely.
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