Gestational Eggs

These are fertilized chicken eggs, full of little baby chickens. They taste like differently textured egg yolks, so don't let it freak you too much. Add lime and black pepper and yous got you a meal.

Done Detting

From the caves south to a mystical place called the four thousand islands. Though relatively close looking on a map, this area is quite far from Kong Lo, and rendered further feeling by the hellish sauna of a busride. To make matters slightly less tolerable, a four hour stop at a unbearably bad concert ensues. After arrival on Don Khong, the largest of the islands, eat rice soup filled with ants(bonus protein) and get a boat to Don Khon, a very similarly named yet smaller island. The attitude is relaxed in the extreme, and joint toking hippies covered in dreads wander the streets barefoot, sabaidee-ing each other and cooking pizza in homemade barrel stoves.

Apart from the dope, the islands are beautiful, and lounging in the sun feels like being hit with hot sticks. After a ten minute session, a slick of sweat worthy of the pastiest northern traveler adorns most people. Street vendor samosas satiate hunger, and a kayaking trip rounds out the experience of southern Laos by showing  some of the Irrawady freshwater dolphins. Also included are some waterfalls, one of which is the "Niagara" of Southeast Asia, meaning that it has more water flow over it than any other. A return to the isle and a penchant for wanting to help leads to aiding the carrying of a three and a half ton electricity transformer strapped to a bunch of bamboo. Sore shoulders ensue, but a midnight dip in a moonlit Mekong helps to soothe any pain felt and a couple beer lao later sleep embraces us all.

In Praise of Egg Noodles.

Just a quick thought before I lose the train of thought precariously perched at the station currently being paid attention to in my head. Egg noodles. These noodles are the kings of noodles. More bite than Chinese white noodles, thicker and more voluminous than the Viet vermicelli, and more sauce absorbent than any dry package noodles. These noodles reign. Competition in thought is welcome, with the restrictions set at pastas, which have their own competition.

Back to surreality. A river runs through it.

After somewhere like VV, a return to normalcy can be shocking, jarring even. Typically, said shock comes with a heavy pillow of relief from the fact that a return to normalcy is desired. The bus to Vientiane was short and uneventful, as was our time there in general. Heard from a friend in VV that the Kong Lo caves were the highlight of Laos, and weren't foolish enough to miss such a golden opportunity. Though starkly removed from any semblance of a beaten path, the route to Kong Lo was precisely what the doctor ordered. After a ride out in a bus, eating sticky rice by hand with soy sauce and being dropped at an intersection in the middle of the night with no real idea of it's location, sometimes lady luck lends a gorgeous hand. Whilst sitting on a bench roadside, chatting with a gentleman who bicycled here from Poland, a family moving van pulled up to get gas. Providence presides, and a ride is secured to the small town closest to the caves, where guesthouses are available. Stress should be put on the "moving"aspect of this van. Literally so chock full of farm equipment, women and children that entering through the windows was the only method of getting a seat. There was a small child dormant on a refrigerator next to me. Rugged.

Arrival yeilds a cheap and cheerful guesthouse, which, after a roach murder, is quite comfortable and free of other pests. Also, it turns out roaches fly. News to end all news.

The following day strike out early to achieve the desired goal of a 7 km journey through pitch black limestone caves. Eat some chicking with feathers on it. Feel not good about it. Get a tuktuk to the caves with some folk we met in VV. Hilarity ensues.

The caves are truly beyond description. I may throw that around, but the feeling of floating through a mountain on a boat in the most truly enveloping darkness is one that must be felt to be believed. The guide's headlamps stab fruitlessly at making sense of the scale and scope of the cave complex. Hundred meter vaulting ceilings blast skyward seeming to make no sense that sky doesn't show at their apex. Indoor waterfalls speckle the water with drops falling from crevices that rise straight to the mountaintop. At some points, exiting the boat is a necessity to portage over rapids. Instead of repeating the same on the way back, a slightly different route is taken to avoid becoming bored as if it was a possibility when sitting in a state of shock and awe. Guides seem to be good company, and as a result eschew the traditional portage in favour of pulling in the boat engine and sledding down the rapids like lunatics. Awesome.

Vang Vieng

So many terms can describe Vang Vieng. Its a wild and crazy place dropped into the middle of beautiful obscurity between the Laos capital of Vientiane and the Laos tourist area of Luang Prabang. The beauty is only to be found outside town, where limestone caves and cliffs rise triumphantly out of the ground and create stunning backdrops for the relative debauchery occuring within city limits. Laws don't apply. Rules are bent and broken, lying splintered on the floors covered in sweat and booze and some other unidentifiable but questionable substances. All the bars have menus for drugs here, without exception. A massive mafia keeps the police well paid and out of the way, lending room for such delectable delights as mushroom pizza, and we ain't talking shittakes. Others still are replete with opium, marijuana and an intoxicating cocktail of other substances designed to scramble your insides enough that you'll actually partake in the stupid shit people are demanding you do. Alcohol is a happy substance, but the available options and free booze also encourage a level of poor judgement usually reserved for the mentally ill. That being said, jumping in with two feet is the only option. Happily, provided a couple screws in the head stay tight, it can be an enjoyable place. Leaving town leads to lovely areas and lagoons, which, combined with a heady dose of the alcoholic substance known as "swamp juice", can lead you to try dangerous things on rope swings and earn you a shin full of stitches. The most enjoyable part of the entire debaucle will likely be haggling the hospital workers down in price for your health. Really helps the individual put a price on well being.

After that, you might ignore warnings on your antibiotics and head down to the bars to "be a trooper" and continue the party. This might lead to slow healing abilities, but it certainly won't hurt your feeling of having embraced the experience. Nearly everyone is injured in Vang Vieng, though most don't bother to run the proper course of cleanliness, which results in massive infection and a tendancy to juice heavily from obscure wounds. Delight.

No food worth talking about.

One thing that does bear mention in VV is the reps. After a four day stay, leaving was the single most important possibility and after leaving was treating the massive hangover associated with having bent time and space to provide more room for alcohol over the past four days. The "reps", are the falang people who work at the bars and clubs in VV, spending months or even years living a lifestyle best described by reading Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas". Yellow, jaundiced eyes, soulless and devoid of any emotion except a will to party are common. At the river for 11 A.M., drunk before twelve, and usually pushed to party until 3A.M. or later, these people are truly testing the borders of human partying potential. Jokes abound about photo studies in which you take a good looking and strong individual , subject them to a daily dose of VV, and take a picture of them every day for their entire stay as a rep. The rapid degeneration would be evident.

Other than partying, nothing gets done, especially in light of the shin-hole.The only other mentionables are that we manage to meet up with the great Scot again, which adds considerably to the fun had. That is all, there are no pictures, because noone was dumb enough to bring their camera out.

By Road and River

Apologies forwarded for the hurried post of northern Thailand. Slight neglect of the blog as a result of overwhelming options in the department marked "things to do". Laos is a country slightly fabled around the region, and a quick read through "Villa Incognito"(a gift from a friend and traveller) left much anticipation for it's sense of calm and strange magic. Laos is a land lying in contrast and comparison with many of the surrounding regions. Cross from northern Thailand at the northern border by boat, and the changes are slight but plentiful. Madly underpopulated and overbombed, Laos contains the traditions of something like 45 ethnic groups and is fundamentally a creation of the Thai and the French. It's history spans a relatively short time comparative to it's neighbours, but does credit to the Lao people in how rocky and difficult it has been. Read about it.

The border town of Huay Xia used to be the opium smuggling wild west of Asia. Unlike most places which have snatched legitimacy from the hands of criminals and lunatics, there is no monument celebrating this fact or any real indicators of it's seedy history. The mighty Mekong river splits Thailand and Laos like somebody very shakily cut a a wedge from the world. Meandering back and forth, straying from it's path every year during rainy season, during which time it may rise as much as 10 meters(personal estimate, do not quote). Laos contributes more water than any other country to the Mekong. Where once water was precious and conserved, the Northern Thai and Lao people are relatively free with water, which flows wildly all year round. During rainy season, the Northern Mekong can flow at 112 m per minute(not personal estimate, do quote). Most of this rainfall comes from sleepy Laos and it's massive limestone cliffs.

Eschewing the standard method of travel(bus), and opting for a slow boat, two day trip into Luang Prabang results in a much deeper appreciation for the river and it's strong effect on the local economy and style of survival. Caves and hills abound, but also riverside farms, which are enveloped during the wet season, show their use as green scrubs grow from what once was and will soon be a riverbed. The main source of hydration is BeerLao, and groups quickly form at the back of the boat to accommodate the more social travelers. Speckled with naps, photo opportunities and games built to encourage alcoholism, the trip is an enjoyable segue into a beautiful country as yet mostly un-trampled by the hordes of the West. The food takes a quick turn from pad thai into a ubiquitous baguette sandwich, filled with either tuna, chicken or bacon, and a remnant of the french colonial era. The first unprocessed cheese sighting sets hearts beating at an accelerated pace. "La Vache qui rit? Oui, S'il vous plait".

The boat docks for the first evening in the quiet city of Pakbeng. Rumours of a massive Thai tour group are floated about by the conductors of the bus to encourage booking rooms through them instead of by yourself. Gullible travelers oblige and get ripped off. A quick wander yeilds cheap and cheerful accomodation for what has become a dozen person group, leading to good discounts. Restaurant owners haggle with free bottles of Lao-Lao(the peoples whisky), a rice spirit distilled from the local variety of sticky rice. Though less than delicious, the offer of cheap food and free whiskey before bed is not to be ignored. After seeing the relish with which the group consumes food and whiskey, waiters are quick to offer up opium cigarettes. Disconcerting, but the region is world famous for it's opium, and as such, it's to be expected.

The next day's boatride is much of the same, but takes slightly longer and the views are slightly better. Arrival in Laung Prabang yeilds a city of preserved french buildings, river view restaurants, and a very European air. Not cheap, those things. The city is the least touched by America's "secret war", and as such, contains some of the oldest buildings in Laos. European charm only goes so far, and a taste of Southeast Asia is promised by a nearby waterfall, or collection of waterfalls. All told, the waterfalls go 300 meters down river, with plentiful swimming holes, climbing falls, rope swings and adventure. A trek from bottom to top, self guided in bare feet, is not necessarily intelligent, but is a very good way to see the falls from a different perspective than the well worn jungle path. The upper falls are huge, and the steep climb up doesn't have much in the way of reward. However, a fork in the path, explored while coming down, shows a much nicer, less used swimming hole, complete with a high waterfall chuting over the entrance of a small cave. This is unbelievably gorgeous, and many minutes can be spent pandering to that most animal instinct of relaxing in a place of natural beauty.

The region is still highly touristed, however, and those who endeavor to avoid paths crushed by so many flip-flop laden feet might crave an out to somewhere less populated by people of  a non-Lao complexion. A plan is hatched to go to the Pathet Lao caves and Phonsavon. Initially, motorcycles are the preferred route, but increasingly get more expensive as areas get less populous. In the end, minibuses and vans are taken to Xam Neau, and on to Vieng Xai, which is the local jump off point for the Pathet Lao caves. The Pathet Lao were and are the peoples party of Lao. Thanks to America's odd and entirely ineffective method of warring against Lao, they now rule the country known as Laos PDR. Not very commonly known in the west is that during the Vietnam war, the American government ran massive bombing operations in Northern Laos, under the guise that it was an arms route for weapons from China, Burma, and Russia. It was both this and a few other reasons, including a rising communist tide in northern Laos, and the burgeoning availability of cheap opium, that the CIA ran a covert war here for many years. Since no official American soldiers could be in Lao in a warring capacity, bombing and training local tribes-people were the most effective weapons against the Lao People's party. The Hmong people, highlanders traditionally marginalized by Monarchical Lao society, were armed and trained to fight on behalf of the monarchy by American operatives. In exchange, the CIA bought their opium and bombed their enemies. More bombs were dropped on Lao in this "secret war" than were dropped in the entirety of the second world war by both sides. The reason this is pertinent is due to the Pathet Lao caves, the hiding places of all the leaders of the rebellion against western dominance and the ancient Lao society. The caves are a monstrous network, honeycombing under mountains and had the ability to house thousands of soldiers, doctors and common people. The leaders had their own caves, complete with oxygen chambers(donated by the Russians) to avoid gas attacks. Bedrooms, bathrooms and libraries were carved out of rock, and busts of Lenin and books decorate the offices. The final cave has an amphitheater, able to house some one thousand people to watch movies, see plays or dance performances, and host party rallies. People lived in these caves for nine years, so the experience of visiting is deepened by the knowledge of the time spent among the rock warrens and pools. It's a humbling place.

 A visit here is not complete, however, without the brutality of the bus ride, give perhaps some insight into what being in a bomb-rocked cave must be like, swinging wildly around mountain turns and launching passengers on trips across the aisle to meet their neighbouring sufferers. The biggest issue is the amount of small animals, including rodents of questionable lineage and chickens wrapped in blankets. Their scent and noise, combined with the ever present stench of the vomit being belched forth on all sides, turns what may have been a pleasant ride through the mountains into a rocking, smelly hell filled with expectoration and sadness. Never to be forgotten.

Following the caves, a more ancient piece of history is to be observed outside Phonsavon. The "plain of jars" is at once interesting and slightly disappointing. Though impressive and curious, little is known about the jars besides where they are and where they were mined from. Their purpose remains a subject for speculation, from burial jars to ancient alcohol containers.  These massive one piece stone containers have a mystery about them, but are trumped by the bomb craters and unexploded ordinance in the area(one Lao person is killed or injured every day by UXO).

After so much serious history, a bit of levity is added by a visit to a local Lao-lao maker. Though production of rice whiskey is technically illegal in Laos, there is barely a police force in the small villages, and they turn a blind eye when they know of it. The government brand in stores is horrible compared to the spirit being produced in this backwater hut, replete with bags of rice, containers of half fermented spirit, and the most rudimentary still. The owner is a hilariously tiny old Lao man with a smile bereft of tooth and a chain smoking habit. No english is spoken, but reverence for his craft is understood, and after some choppy translation by our guide and a couple shots, a good laugh is produced by calculating how much whiskey he produces in a year. It's alot. Like 43,500 litres alot. In a ten by ten hut.

rice whiskey in process

The surrounding town has taken to it's relative bomb saturation by incorporating shells into architecture, stabilizing radio antennae with hundred pound bombs and even using them as housing support. Others still have turned a tragedy into a cottage industry, crafting spoons, pendants, chopsticks and small trinkets out of melted bomb aluminum. This dedication to making the best out a bad situation is brought under question by a charred peice of aluminum siding nearby. It is finally admitted that the spoons and such are a combination of bombs and others to stabilize the metal.

As one last stop on our tour of the area, we visit a very intriguing place: a silk weaving factory. In 2005, the owner of this particular facility was nominated for a nobel peace prize for helping women in Laos. The weaving facility employs 80% women, and many of them just come to learn the craft before leaving to open businesses back in their hometowns. The mulberry farm atttached feeds the silkworms in longhouses, who pupate and extrude cocoons of silk. These cocoons are then unravelled and re-shaped into garments suitable for someone with severely sensitive skin. The whole process is intriguing, our guide was engaging, and we even ate a silkworm(tastes like dried beans). I ended up buying mulberry wine, due to everything else costing a weeks budget. The wine sucked, but supporting the facility in even a small way was quite nice.

Finally we leave Phonsavon to return to the beaten tourist track and enter the intensity that is Vang Vieng, party capital of Laos and front runner for the olympic category "Sodom and Gomorrah impersonations". Also next episode, Oliver get's stitches! Stay tuned.

My Chang

Chang Mai is a strange and interesting place, walled by ancient brick in centertown, and most active in the evening during it's fabled night bazaar. Most folk use it as a jump off place for Pai and the surrounding area, but in itself it's a nice town. Winding alleys replete with small, intimate guesthouses, framed by beer gardens and restaurants. The ubiquitous effect of western society is still very present, tuktuk drivers cluck and whistle at every passing falang, and even local restaurants serve spaghetti and meatballs, pizza and burgers on top of the cheaper and more delicious Thai fare. In short, Chang Mai was likely a more amazing place ten years or more before yesterday.

Wandering the night bazaar is pleasant, but Chang Mai offers more of a feeling than any real attractions. Nearby wats are common for visitation, but the fact that they stand lit up at night is more gratifying than standing too close to understand their effect on the surrounding era. Favorite features of the city itself are the small markets around, and the available street food, which is much different and less common than the common hawkers in the south. Other vegetables grow here, including brassicas along the lines of cauliflower and cabbages. This means the regional cuisine is much different as well. Hilariously, the spice present in the much hotter south is non existent here.

Off to Pai, 6 hours of winding busride later behind a small boy holding a chicken. Whatever atmosphere Chang Mai has, it is most assuredly trumped by the laid back feeling of sleepy Pai. It's like a hippy paradise that has been subtly exploited and is now also filled with places trying to glean a few dollars for the crowds that pass through. Happily, Pai is the place where you'll least likely perceive this to be happening, and are even less likely to be offended by it. Locals are still happy with falang, not weary and exhausted byconstant use and abuse of their culture and country. Nothing like Bangkok for a show of that. Pai is also the most common point to take a 5 days motorcycle loop called the Mae Hong Song Loop. No sooner had the decision been made to partake in said trip than the realization dawned that the Thai visas were short(annoyingly so) and it was time to leave to Lao. Many may wonder at the decision to leave Thailand so shortly after our arrival, but the feeling that Laos would be less trampled down than Thailand is not only correct, but also enough to encourage us to embrace Laos in it's entirety.