Sixty One Degrees
An occassional journal of an Asia-overland adventure
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Muang Ngoi, Laos
Anita's flying visit finished today and she headed off by plane to Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Forbidden to fly as I am I headed by local bus up to the north. My first stop was the town of Nong Khiaw, four hours journey away. From there it was a one hour boat trip up the Nam Ou (that's a river) to the small village of Muang Ngoi.
Once a quiet fishing and farming village, it's now a quiet backpacker village. They still fish and farm but the majority of the cash these days is from guesthouses. Despite this radical change of direction the village is still marvellous. Nestling on one bank of the river with steep mountainsides rising on all around.
I arrived mid-afternoon. Just enough time to settle in to my hammock and spend a few hours watching the sunset.
The next day I headed off with a couple of others, Michel and Pierre-Hughes, to explore a nearby cave. The entrance was via a stream and we were soon wading up to our waists, then our chests, then our necks. In a larger chamber ahead we could see a couple of candles and soon met up with a trio of French-Canadians, Manu, Raja, and Joëlle, also exploring the cave. They had wisely brought some insurance against failing torches.
As a group we explored for some time. Mostly wading waist deep through the slowly flowing stream. Eventually all streams were explored and we returned, thoroughly soaked, to the entrance.
We then continued for another half hour or so through dry rice fields to a further village. It's only concession to tourism being a couple of bungalows and a small cafe where we had a late lunch before eventually returning to Muong Ngoi.
The next day we trekked much further to a mountain-top village. Whilst there we ran into another Canadian couple, Greg and Marie-Eve, who were trekking further and staying overnight in a remote village. As we discovered later, upon reaching the village a ceremony was in progress. Our friends' guide ushered them in to the village only to discover that such trespass during the ceremony was strictly forbidden. The penalty? 500000 kip and two pigs. Having left all their pigs behind there was no choice but to negotiate. Greg and the guide were summoned to the chief's hut where, amongst much drinking of Lao Lao whiskey, the debate commenced. Forty-five minutes later the penalty is down to 100000 kip. Still too much. "We must ask the gods!", they say. After a brief consultation the gods apparently say 50000 kip. About $5. Done!
The next day we went kayaking up the river. Fairly uneventful except when I lost my bungalow key. I didn't realise until I got back and had to explain to the owners that they needed to break the padlock off the door. Some judicious use of a claw hammer and half-an-hour later a new padlock was in place. "How much for the new lock?", I ask. "5000 kip". About 50 cents. I gave 10000 since the bracket was wrecked also. Ten minutes later the lady of the family brings me back the extra 5000 kip, insisting I take it. That would never happen elsewhere in south-east Asia.
The new group had decided to leave the next day. The owners of our regular restaurant wanted to say thanks for our patronage with a Basli ceremony. We
gathered around a large silver centrepiece covered in flowers and offerings. The elderly members of the family chanted the words of the ceremony before tying a number of strings around our wrists, all the while chanting incantations. They believe that we each have many guardian spirits but that those spirits are usually away from us, doing their own thing. By performing the ceremony they bring the spirits back to us to provide protection as we travel.
Tempting as it was to stay longer we finally left the next day. This time taking a boat all the way to Luang Prabang. An all day journey and an excellent way to finish my time in the north.
Phonsavan, Laos
We headed today for Phonsavan, famous for the Plain of Jars. It's about 120km from Luang Prabang as the crow flies but about seven hours by bus across the twisty mountain passes between the two towns. Things have improved though, before the road was completely sealed the journey took thirteen hours.
The trip was fairly uneventful save for the constant stream of young soldiers getting on and off the bus with their rifles. They weren't checking on the passengers, they were simply travelling from one observation post to the next. Only a few years ago this road was very unsafe. Disaffected hill-tribes would come down and cause havoc. The government countered this with signficantly increased security, and increased funding for the disaffected regions. So I guess they got their point across.
Phonsavan was a pretty non-descript town but with a little haggling we managed to get on to a tour by car of the Plain of Jars and other sites.
The Plain of Jars is exactly that. A plain, full of jars. Hundreds of them. The jars are big. More than a metre high and wide and carved from solid granite (as far as I could tell). No-one really knows what they are for. The chief government archeologist is currently studying for an advanced degree in Australia. Presumably when he gets back he'll have it sussed.
The whole region was also a prime target in America's secret war. Following the Geneva agreement of 1962 the North Vietnamese denied using Laos as part of the Ho Chi Minh supply trail and the Americans denied trying to bomb the bejeezus out of them. Often-times planes returning from unsuccessful sorties in North Vietnam would drop whatever remaining ordinance they were carrying where-ever they crossed the border in to Laos. By 1973 they had dropped an average of one planeload of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a days, for nine years. 1.9 million tonnes worth in total, or over half-a-tonne for every man, woman, and child in Laos.
The result is clear to see over the whole district. Most obviously in the bomb craters evident everywhere. But more subtly in the fact that there are no buildings more than 30 years old. The whole region was completely destroyed. It's remarkable that the jars survived.
Luang Prabang, Laos
Luang Prabang is a great little city. Probably my favourite on the trip so far. The old city lies nestled between the Mekong and the Nam Khan rivers and is chock full of temples, palm-lined streets, and French colonial architecture.
Anita had picked up a cheap ticket from Australia so she came up to visit. A little strange for me travelling with a companion again after a couple of months alone but she was very tolerant of my crusty ways.
We took a stroll around the town and into a few temples. A novice approached us at one eager to improve his english. For many young Laos the Buddhist temples are a way to get an education. They often "take the robes" at 12 years old or so and stay on through their teenage years. Once they are 18 or so they can elect to become monks, having spent a large amount of time studying Buddhism, meditation, and the languages Bari and Sanscrit. Many would like to return to the outside world though and for them english is a more useful tool. Practicing with tourists is a prime way of improving.
We spoke for some time with Kalm (what a name for a monk) and Anita even convinced him to teach us to meditate. Just a five minute lesson but you could see that he was deeply immersed.
Finally we continued on our way around the rest of the town, before taking my same driver back to the waterfall. This time I'd chance a swim in the cold but clear waters.
The french influence in the town is still very strong, with coffee and baguettes easy to find and a number of french restaurants. We decided to head to the most expensive we could find, a very elegant place just near the river. Aperitifs, wine, and, for me, fillet mignon in a blue cheese sauce came to a whopping $12 for both. Very nice it was too.
Luang Prabang, Laos
I changed some money into the local currency today. 4000 Thai baht (about US$100) got me a little over one million kip. Unfortunately the largest note in common circulation is 5000 kip so I ended up with a pile of money over an inch high. The money situation is so fluid you can pay for anything with kip, baht or dollars. Or often a combination.
It all came back to a local perspective when I chartered a minibus out to some local waterfalls at a price of 90000 kip, about US$9. The driver explained that he used to be a teacher but was paid only 180000 kip / month. Only just enough to feed his family. "When they pay 300000 a month I go back", he said.
On the way back from the falls we stopped in at a small village. They don't sell anything so they don't usually get visitors. I was a bit of a novelty. I strolled through the bamboo and thatch huts with my driver and soon was trailing an entourage of about thirty children. I stopped for a bit and then pulled out my camera. Half immediately starting posing and half ran screaming.
Having not much else to offer I thought I'd make a donation to the school, as suggested by all polically correct guidebooks. "Do they have a school?", I asked and was duly shown a small concrete block building on the edge of the village, with one room, about six small tables and chairs, and a blackboard. I offered to make a small donation and was ushered back to the centre of the village to meet the elders, huddled around a fire in the fading light.
Once my request was explained a great hubbub ensued. It seemed that "The Book" was required to record this illustrious transaction (and make sure it really goes to the school). Someone was dispatched and the book was duly brought forth. The gentleman who seemed to be in charge then started writing in the book. And writing, and writing. As he filled a page with I don't know what my guide drew my attention to an elderly lady heading towards her hut with some barbecued meat on a couple of sticks. "Rats", he said, and I could still see their tails.
The entry in the book was complete but it was not yet official. "The Stamp" was required. Someone else shot off into the dark to find it. Half-an-hour or more had now passed and I was only planning on giving a few dollars. After all, it was just one photo and a short stroll. Nevertheless, The Stamp was produced and with much ceremony the entry was officiated. It just remained for me to scribble in the small space left in the margin the actual amount of the donation. 50000 kip I put in and handed it with two hands to the elder. I left not knowing if they thought that was wonderful or hardly worth the effort of getting the book.
Luang Prabang, Laos
Today I had my first hot water shower in six weeks. It seems I have suddenly left the wet/dry season of the tropics and hit winter.
Mekong River, Laos
I crossed from Thailand into Laos via the northern border of Chiang Khong / Huay Xai. Roads are few and far between in this part of Laos so about the only way of getting to my destination of Luang Prabang was two days by boat down the Mekong.
Apart from the occassional logged hill-sides the country is pretty untouched up here. In fact, the Mekong is one of the last untamed rivers. Until the building of the bridge between Thailand and Laos near Vientienne in 1993 there was not a single span along it's entire South-East Asian length.
The scenery for the most is pleasant rather than spectacular. There's lots of activity on the river-side: villagers fishing, washing clothes and themselves, or taking delivery of large polished teak dinner tables. Lots of water buffalo are to be seen and even a few elephants. Still working in this very tough terrain.
For all it's isolation the latest mod-cons are never too far away though. The cargo boat that chugs upstream might look like it's about to sink but they still have a satellite dish on the roof for the latest in Thai soap operas.
Phang-Nga, Thailand
After a few days swimming and snorkelling in the amazing blue-green waters of Ko Lanta and Ko Phi Phi I found myself with some time to kill in the town of Phang-Nga. I had heard of a good forest reserve nearby with a decent short trek and decided to check it out.
The only option to get out there was by motor-scooter. I have never ridden one before but that seemed no impediment to hiring one from a local hotel. A quick ride up and down the lobby was enough to convince them of my skill and I was soon bumping out the door, plastic helmet balancing on my head, and jerking down the road as I come to terms with the accelerator and brake being on the same hand. Realising I was going the wrong way I turned around and sailed confidently back past the hotel, waving maniacally like something out of Easy Rider meets Gilligan's Island.
The forest was well worth the trip and I took a path that followed a stream through the deep vegetation. A number of caverns penetrated the limestone walls on either side but it was the bat cave at the end that I was interested in.
After an hour or so I came to the entrance and found a large opening with limestone flows, and tall stalagmites. I could see in the gloom at the back of the chamber a small path leading on. I approached with my torch and could see that it split in to two levels. A rough bamboo ladder climbed to the upper level which continued further on, past the reach of my torch.
After a short while the path opened out into a small chamber, and to it's right a larger room. I headed to the second chamber, the sound of bat cries growing ever louder. I passed the torch around the chamber but it barely reached the far walls or ceiling. Towards the right was a large opening to yet another chamber. The cacophony of bats increased in that direction.
The light from my torch was beginning to dim as I walked down the slope to the next room. I found myself on a narrow ledge next to a wide and deep pit. I couldn't see the bottom. Beside me a thick stalagmite climbed high to the ceiling above, where hundreds of bats clearly roosted, though my torch could only just reach them.
I headed back to the last chamber and then noticed a small gap leading to another chamber higher up on the far side. The ascent to the gap was a little tricky. I knew that if anything happened there would be no help. I eventually found a route that seemed safe and so climbed on, finding myself standing in the largest chamber of all. I couldn't see the ceiling or far walls at all. As I walked around I saw high up a small entrance to yet another chamber. It seemed every bit as large but this time discretion would win out. My light was continuing to dim and it was time to head back.
I scrambled back down the slope to the central large chamber, kicking a rock as I went. It bounced a few times down the slope then in to the lower chamber, bouncing on the edge of the pit before falling in. It was several seconds before I heard it hit the bottom. I edged cautiously to the right to put myself out of direct line of the same path.
As the light dimmed more I returned to the smaller chamber and back down the path before finally returning to the entrance and daylight. Relieved to have made it safely but exhilarated for the adventure.
Cameron Highlands, Malaysia
After a couple of days relaxing on the beach it was time to return to the jungle. Or in this case, the tea plantations of the Cameron Highlands.
After a grueling bus trip up the mountains, with 639 corners, I arrived late at night at the small town of Tanah Rata. I was determined to see the sunrise over the hills so the next morning I got up early and took a taxi past the next town of Brinching and partway up the nearby mountain to a great viewpoint, just above the tea plantations with the sun rising in the distance.
I spent some time here then started walking the 4km back to the main road. I had thought to catch a bus from here to Brinching, another 4km or so, then another for the final 5km to Tanah Rata. Alas, no buses. I ended up walking all the way to Brinching.
From here the road continues to Tanah Rata but there are also numerous jungle trails. Much more interesting I thought. I loaded myself up with suitable supplies and set off to find the first trail.
It was hidden behind an elaborate Chinese temple and turned out to be quite steep and overgrown. Undaunted I forged on. The trail was indistinct in parts and false trails would branch off here and there but I was encouraged by the occasional sign assuring me that I was still on trail 2.
The day wore on and I continued to struggle through the dense foliage. I was looking for trail 3, which would take me to trail 5 then back home. I tried a few promising side trails but they all soon disappeared. I realised that the last trail 2 sign had been some time ago and my thoughts began to wander to the tale of the two people who were lost out here for two days. I was unconcerned though as I was well supplied with six slices of dried mango and a packet of jelly fruits. Perhaps I could use the jelly fruits to capture small animals.
I eventually came out on a vegetable farm that I was sure was not on the trail. A couple of Bangladeshis came across and after a quick bit of banter about the cricket they pointed me back the way I had come.
I continued my search for trail 3, taking every possible side trail. I eventually found it but couldn't see how it could possibly match the map. From here however I had huge signs directing me along the final stretch back to civilisation. It was now late afternoon and I still had to clean my backpack from an exploded shampoo bottle.
Ipoh, Malaysia
On the way to the Cameron Highlands I had a few hours to kill in the non-descript town of Ipoh. Rather than sit at the bus station I decided to hire a taxi to go to Kelly's Castle, a large manor house built by an English tin merchant at the turn of the century. Unfortunately he had died on a trip back to Europe and the house was never completed. It was soon forgotten and was gradually reclaimed by the jungle.
In the fifties it was rediscovered but remained largely unknown for many years. Accounts spoke of hacking through the jungle to reach the overgrown site.
It was with these tales in mind that I eagerly approached the castle but time had not been kind to my image. In the ensuing years a major road had been built right out front, the jungle had been cleared, the vines removed, and the lawn was freshly mown. What remained was a rather dull, half-finished building.
I was a little disappointed.