Communists, caves and chocolate mousse

You’d expect the capital city of a country like Laos to be ravishing, but Vientiane was just OK. It had its charms – sparkly wats, a gleaming golden stupa, labyrinthine markets and some delicious restaurants. Other than that it’s a little bit ugly, all office slabs and grey government buildings. Plus it was muggy as hell, so we bezzed around the sights, ate some incredible Belgian chocolate mousse and fecked off out of there.

We caught the overnight bus north-eastwards. An unrelaxing night rumbling along under speakers blaring out Thai ballads ended in the spooky morning gloom of Phonsevan, a gritty town surrounded by hills scarred by the acne of American bombs. Phonsevan was our first proper glimpse at the wreckage caused by the “secret” war on Laos – nine years of vicious bombing during the Vietnam war to stem the spread of Communism. The Americans actually set out to bomb this area “back to the middle ages” and local folk took – and still take – the main brunt of that. Little tennis ball-sized bombs are still tucked away under farmland, exploding in the faces of innocent farmers and children.

Phonsevan got even more spooksome when we visited the Plain of Jars. There are thousands upon thousands of these weird olden-days stone receptacles sprinkled across the hills and no one really know why. They could have been built for funeral rites or to brew whisky.

We made our way up towards the Vietnam border, taking in battle-hardened Sam Neua and gorgeous Vieng Xai. The communist Pathet Lao hid out in caves for nine entire years in Vieng Xai, building up burrow communities with printing presses and hospitals and everything. They bore out the war with sheer determination and thank god they did, because you will never meet sweeter, more welcoming people than the inhabitants of Vieng Xai. They’re breeding like crazy to re-establish the population – the place is crawling with little squidgy people.

Within about two hours of arriving we were beckoned into a bar where a group of young Lao men were merrily drinking shots of Beerlao and playing table tennis – loser buys the beer, so of course Joe got involved and ended up buying plenty. Despite the language barrier we communicated fine for hours, them laughing at our noses and (Joe’s) body hair, us prodding their long fingernails in awe. The following night we were lured once again, this time to a village summer school to help the shy teenagers with their English pronunciation.

I felt a bit sad when we eventually boarded the rickety little bus to Vietnam. Laos was good to us. We made friends, had loads of fun in the rivers and jungles, learnt a lot and got well and truly into the horizontal pace of life.