The case of the Irish Neighbours fan...

I just met a Irish man who demanded I write about him in my blog. I told him that he would have to do something pretty exceptional for me to write about him, as if I wrote about every traveller I spoke to it would be a boring blog both to write and read. The fact that he was having a beer for breakfast at 8am in the morning did not make him unique enough to write about on his own. Nor was his incredibly strong Irish accent, that meant I had to ask him to repeat everything he said about three or four times.

He talked to me for a while, clearly trying to impress me, by telling me some of his experiences travelling, all of which sounded very ordinary. He seemed really quite simple actually, and I wondered whether he was under the influence of drugs. Finally, I had had enough of his conversation, and to shut him up I told him he had impressed me enough that I was going to write about him, but had no intention of actually doing so. He seemed to be satisfied with that. I hoped he would go away and leave me alone for a bit, but he really didn’t get the hint.

He kept nattering away about various inane topics, until something he said finally got my attention. After discovering I was from Melbourne he mumbled something that sounded to me like ‘Dyanoredafnisthen?’ After five or six times I finally worked out that he was asking me if I knew Daphne’s coffee shop. I told him that there were 1000’s of coffee shops in Melbourne and that I didn’t know all of them. He told me it was run by a couple called Des and Daphne.

‘I don’t know anyone by that name’, I replied. ‘Melbourne’s a big place.’

‘But you must know them,’ he assured me. ‘It’s near Ramsey Street’

I realise that he’s talking about NEIGBOURS, the television show, and laugh out loud, assuming he is joking. But he looks at me in earnest and asks if I’ve been there. Now I really don’t know if he is taking the piss or is seriously deluded, but I tell him,

‘You know it’s not a real place, right?’

He looks at me and either he doesn’t understand my Australian accent, or is just ignoring that I’ve even spoken.

‘But Daphne and Des, have you met them?’ He keeps asking.

‘No I haven’t met them,’ I say.

‘Well, Charlene, surely you’ve met her?’

I wish I could say that he is joking, but he seems totally serious… If he’s taking the piss, he deserves full credit for pulling it off without cracking a single smile. I, on the other hand, have a grin from ear to ear, and have to control myself not to laugh out loud.

‘No,’ I tell him, ‘I haven’t met her. I live in a different place in Melbourne, in a different suburb that’s a long way from Ramsey Street so I’ve never even been there.’

‘Oh,’ he said, apparently satisfied.

So the random Irishman appeared in my blog after all and I’m still not sure if I managed to meet the stupidest person on the planet, or he is sitting somewhere now chuckling and telling someone about how the stupid Australian actually believed that he thought Ramsey Street was a real place.

The never-ending bus to Pakse

I ended up on a bus trip that never ended when travelling between Vientiane and Pakse in the south. There is one VIP express bus in the evening that takes about 9 hours, and that is the only bus that guesthouses sell tickets for. There are a number of normal VIP buses that are supposed to exist, according to the guidebook I consulted, as well as the sign at the bus station. So I set the alarm and woke up at 6am to catch a 7:15am VIP bus... only to find when I arrived at the bus station that the VIP bus was 'broken' and there were only local buses going today… I had heard from a girl in Vang Vien who took a local bus from Pakse to Vientiane to save money that it took 18 hours, so I wanted to make sure that this wouldn’t be the case with this bus… I checked with the bus driver who spoke great English, who said that the bus would take about 12 hours. The bus left at 6:30 so I said, so it arrives at 6:30pm tonight? He looked thoughtful, as if he was wondering how to answer (which should have made me think twice) 'No', he replied, 'about 8pm.'

Well, that was longer than I hoped for, but still okay, I figured, so purchased my seat and got on the bus.

The first thing that happened was that the bus left the station at 6:49am, already running twenty minutes late, only to turn into the first street and stop there until exactly 7:39am. I’m not sure why we waited, but during that time the driver had a cigarette and many local food sellers came through the bus to try and sell us breakfast.

Once we finally got on our way, the bus then stopped hundreds of times to pick up and let off people who were waiting on the side of the road who flagged the bus down. We generally only stopped for a few minutes each time, though, but it adds up. The bus, which probably should have seated 44 people, ended up with about 80 people on it, with people sitting on each others laps, stools down the aisle, and even a couple of men hanging out the door. All this would have been fine except for the vomiting… Laos people have to be the worst travellers that I have encountered… Picture this: a lady sitting with her child on her lap, sharing the same vomit bag as they take it in turns to throw up as the bus winds through the mountainous areas! The vomit lady and child were two seats away from me, but I really pity the Dutch girl that was sitting next to her! I had to put my mp3 on to drown out the sound of the retching, which somehow managed to overshadow even the droning sounds of Thai pop, which was pumping through the bus.

We stopped at a town which was at about the half way mark to Pakse, for a 30 minute lunch break. The ride so far had only taken about 5 and a half hours so I was extremely optimistic about the rest of the trip. The vomit lady and child ate a big meal (I wished I could speak enough Lao to tell her that that wasn’t a good idea…) And sure enough, as soon as we all got back on the bus, the vomit started again. I felt so bad for them… I also felt so bad for the Dutch girl, but at the same time was SO glad it wasn’t me sitting in that seat!

After another two hours, the bus pulled up at the town of Savannakhet… And stopped. After a toilet visit, the bus driver issues us with another ticket and says that we were to take our stuff off the first bus and put our bags onto a second bus. Then the next thing we know, our English speaking bus driver has left with our first bus, and we are on our own in the middle of nowhere! Our new bus has a big sign on the front window with VIP bus written on it, though, so I’m hopeful for an even quicker than expected arrival. The time is 2:55pm, and so I ask the local Lao man what time the bus goes. He tells me ‘ha mon’ – ha meaning five, and ‘mon’ – well that sounds like ‘minutes' I thought. Five minutes, I announce to the other tourists. Fantastic, they say. Well, five minutes came and went, and there was no movement. Ten minutes. No movement. 15 no movement. In fact, we were all kicked off the bus and the officials locked it.

'This doesn’t look good,' the dutch girl said, 'Maybe it’s five hours?'

What???? I thought. So I asked at the ticket office where the lady spoke a little English and sure enough, the bus was scheduled to depart at 5:30 and arrive in Pakse at about 11pm! So there we were, stranded, for 2 and a half hours with nothing we could do about it. I decided then and there that it was important to learn the words for hour and minute.

So while waiting at the bus station I found a little stall and had some dried beef and chatted with the locals. I learnt a few new words and tried to put together some Lao sentences. This was exciting for me, as previously I'd only learnt words and hadn't really tried to make my own sentences. My first efforts went something like this.

I am waiting for the bus.

The bus goes at 5:30.

I don’t like waiting.

In the end, we pulled into Pakse bus station sometime around 11pm at night, nearly 17 hours after we left Vientiane that morning. It was actually a fantastic day for me, though, because through it I became so much more inspired to learn Lao. Other places I had been had so many tourists that almost everyone everywhere spoke English so I hadn't pushed myself out of my comfort zone. As a linguist, and someone that is passionate about languages, I really should have made an effort earlier. But the never-ending bus ride and being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no English speakers was the inspiration for me to try. And so I made a vow that for the rest of my time in Laos I would make an effort to speak to local people in their language, which ended up being the thing that made my Lao trip so special.

Tubing in Vang Vien...

Vang Vien is a town with such beautiful nature, but it's beauty has had a price. It is extremely touristy, full of backpackers mostly. I met a fascinating Palestinian guy, living in London and currently backpacking around the world. His take on Vang Vien was succinct and accurate. He divided all of Vang Vien into 7 different types of establishments.

1. Guesthouse/hotel

2. Restaurant/bar – all have televisions blaring at an incredible volume, most playing the US sitcom ‘Friends’

3. Pancake stalls – hundreds of street vendors that sell pancakes in the same 6 varieties along the same street, all next to each other.

4. Internet cafes – internet is 3x more expensive than in any other city in Laos though in some bizarre sort of price fixin.g

5. Tour operators – tubing, mountain biking, kayaking, caving, etc…

6. Souvenir shops

7. Street food, generally Laos style barbecue, which is the only place out the seven I ever saw Laos people!

Tourists seem to do two things in Vang Vien. Firstly, they go tubing. This basically entails tourists hiring a rubber tyre, taking a tuk tuk 4km out of town to get the river and pulled along by the current back to town. What would ordinarily take about an hour can take a whole day as stop along the way at a number of bars set up along the way so it takes at least hours, and by the time they stumble back into town they are extremely drunk. The bars have a fantastic set up. As people roll past in their tubes, someone from the bar throws out a rope with a stick or a flotation device at you... If you like the look of the place, you can grab it and get out of the river, if you don't like it, you just keep going. Most places have flying foxes or giant swings that you can play for hours on... Each time you plunge into the water, either someone throws you a rope to reel you back in, or you have to swim really really fast to the edge of the water so the current doesn't drag you away. Along with the swings and flying foxes, some bars have volleyball courts, others have sun decks... But all have copious amounts of alcohol being consumed, and because of the competition, the prices are not as exorbitant as you might imagine. Tubing and cheap alcohol... Quite a dangerous combination when you consider the current is sometimes so strong people have drowned in the river. And that is while sober! I have to confess that I joined in the fun of tubing, although it seemed like a stereotypical thing to do that normally tend to avoid, but it looked like such fun that I couldn't miss it. I made sure I had a life vest, though, just in case!

The other thing people do in Vang Vien is sit in the Friends Bars, and watch Friends playing on a never-ending loop. I had read about these bars in the Lonely Planet, but didn't actually believe that they existed, or rather, didn't think that they would be as bad as they were, but they were actually worse. Before arriving I vowed I wouldn't set foot inside a Friends bar the entire time, out of protest, and I figured there would surely be hundreds of other tourists doing the same. Surely such places couldn't manage to attract tourists and actually make good business, I figured. Well, when I arrived I was astounded to find that these places were FULL and other places that had no televisions were EMPTY... What can you do, when it is the tourists that are driving the economy in such towns, and that is apparently what people want? I boycotted any bar or restaurant with a television blaring out of principle, but in such a place what effect could my one-person crusade hope to make????

Caving in Vang Vien

On my first day in Vang Vien I decided to do a pretty standard tourist route to visit three caves fairly close to town. Many tour companies offered a day trip, but as usual I didn’t want to do it as a tour, so instead I hired a mountain bike and with my map and instructions courtesy of the lonely planet I was ready to go. I rode the 15km out of town easily, stopping along the way to photograph a lady walking her pig, an old fashioned petrol station, and lots of cute kids… Then I got to the turn off for the caves, parked my bike and paid a man to take me over the river in a longtail boat.

I went into the first cave, and then started following the signs to the second cave, when I was joined by a young child who kept pointing me the way. He took me through his families rice fields. I was curious as to what he wanted. Most of the time kids want to practise their English, but he was remarkably taciturn and didn’t want to make conversation. Some kids want their photo taken, but he went out of his way to get out of mine… I figured he probably was hoping for a small tip when we arrived at the cave… I calculated in my head what an average daily wage would be for a farmer would be in laos and used that to determine what I thought an okay amount would be, to thank him for his help.

When we arrived at the cave, though, he didn’t ask for money, but grabbed his friend and some torches and guided me into the cave, stopping occasionally to remind me to watch my head. The cave was deep and long, and I never would have made it to the end if not for the two boys. They were very disappointed I didn’t want to swim in the muddy water that was at the end of the cave and pretty much ordered me to, which made me contrarily decide it was the last thing I was doing. So we left the cave, and I was starting to feel annoyed with the kids dogging my every move, so as we left the cave I said ‘thank you, I’ll go on my own from here. Here’s a small present to say thankyou for your time’ and I held in my hands two 5000kip notes, about equivalent to 50cents American, which is about how much an average farmer would make in a day. Well the cheeky boys said ‘no, $5.’

I’m not exactly sure why, but this made me so furious. Firstly, I hadn’t asked the boys to come in, they did it of their own accord, and knowing what I know about the cost of living in laos, eve though it was not a lot of money, it was still pretty good pocket money for the kids... So I got pretty mad at them, and shook my fist and spoke angry words in English that I’m pretty sure they didn’t understand, but they got that I was angry… They then tried to bargain me down to $2 and then when I wasn’t having any of that, $1. But I couldn’t believe I offered them a tip, a present, for a service that while it was helpful, I hadn’t really asked for it in the first place. I told them that and then told them that if they weren't happy with what I first offered then I wasn’t giving them anything, and stalked off along the path in the rough direction of the third cave I wanted to visit.

I figured that I must have impressed them by my ire, because they left me alone. ‘Well, I sure showed them,’ I thought, as I walked along the path into what was becoming more and more dense rainforest. As I walked I was pretty cocky and contemplated how good I’d been to stand up for myself… but the further I walked the narrower the path got, until it had completely disappeared and I found myself forging my way through shrubs and trees and bushes, still hopefully in the rough direction of the cave… I made my own way through the forest a long way before I realised that I was getting nowhere and I could very easily get lost in there, so I turned around and followed my tracks back to the place where I’d seen the sign directing to the third cave. I went back and checked the sign, which indeed pointed towards the forest, so I retraced my steps and found that instead of taking the path into the forest I should have followed it as it forked up the mountain. So this time I took the mountain path. It had a bamboo ladder over some rocks to begin with, so surely this was the correct path. I continued on the path up the mountain a while, until I noticed that this path as well, was getting smaller and smaller. It was at this point that it started to rain and the mountain became incredibly slippery. I made it a fair way up the hill before deciding to turn back. As I walked back I was plagued with guilt, as I’d come to realise without those two boys I would have been completely lost… as I was.

I had been stubborn in my refusal to give them anything. I still believe that they were cheeky in asking for $5, but they did help me, and I was grateful for that… I felt that my trip through the forest and then the mountain were designed as a bit of karma, and until I rectified the situation by giving the boys at least the 50cents each I originally felt that they deserved before I got huffy and walked off, I would continue to have bad karma. So I backtracked and found the cave office. 'Thankyou very much for your help. I’m sorry I was rude. Here is a present for your help,' I said as I gave them the 5000kip each. They thanked me, and then as I started to walk back to the boat, one of them pointed me the correct path to the third cave, which wasn’t either one of the routes I’d tried to walk. They must have been laughing at me as I walked off on them originally, thinking well, if she's not going to give us any money, we're going to let her walk off into the jungle and the middle of nowhere.

Anyway, I thanked him, and made my way to the third cave. I’m not sure of the lesson in the experience, but there definitely was one. I’ve spoken to many people about it since, and a lot of people defend my initial reaction in not giving them anything at all. But I feel now, with a bit of hindsight, that my stubbornness was a bit silly... It was stupid to worry about principles when it comes down to a dollar or so for me, which is less than the cost of a coffee in a coffee shop back home in Melbourne, but for them it could be all they earn in a day or even longer. Especially because their help was necessary, in the end. And, if anything, it’s the lessons that tourism and capitalism have taught them. But I was still quite saddened by the fact that such money-driven madness had penetrated even what I thought was the last refuge against such industry... Laos... where I had thought that kindness to travellers was free... It was my one and only such experience in the whole country, and hopefully not indicative of the rest of the country as it becomes more and more touristy.

Phonsavan

Phonsavan is the capital of the central province of Xieng Kong… I was there for only two days, and was pleased that there were fewer tourists around than anywhere else I’d been… Overall, seems like a pretty standard Laotian city.

Most people come here to see the Plain of Jars, which are ancient stone jars that date back to between 2000BC and 500BC. Noone knows exactly where the jars came from, or what they were used for, but there are hundreds of them just sitting in fields all around the city. Some people believe that they were an ancient crematorium, that bodies were burned inside. But some of the jars were found to contain bones, skulls, human teeth, none of which showed evidence of cremation. Some people think that they were build to house whisky or wine or other foods. Others say that bodies were ‘distilled’ there before cremation. But mostly people don’t know and are purely hypothesizing.

Most people opt to do a day tour around all the sites with a tour company in a minibus, that also goes to some other significant local sites such as…. a Russian Tank… I wasn’t up for a tour, so decided to hire a mountain bike and ride to the first jar site myself. It wasn’t very far, 15 km or so, so I rode it easily in 40 minutes or so, but ended up there right when all the tours were arriving. So I waited until all the tours had gone before I ambled around the jars myself. It was quite amazing to me that these objects were possibly up to 4000 years old, and people could just climb up onto them freely. I imagined people climbing all over Stonehenge and chuckled at the thought.

But I think that I enjoyed the ride to the jars more jars themselves. That’s not to say I didn’t like the jars. I found them mysterious and the field felt a bit eerie, especially once all the people had gone. After sitting on a jar for a while on my own, I chatted with some local people and gave my standard ten phrases of Lao, that never failed to cause admiration and disbelief. Again, I’m a genius for learning my ten words of Lao and pronouncing them rather badly!

Anyway, they were accompanying an Austrian man in his 4WD trip around Lao. I met the Austrian, and after we laughed about there not being any Kangaroos in Austria, he asked if I wanted to join them on their afternoon trip out to a Hmong Village. ‘I’d love to,’ I replied, before remembering the bike sitting in the carpark, ‘but I can’t because I have to ride my bike back to town.’ But that was no obstacle. They simply put the bike in the back of the UTE and off we went.

First we went to the Lao lady’s home, where her mother had made a veritable feast, comprised of two different types of laap, fish soup, beans and pork, sticky rice, and noodle soup. As well as something I didn’t recognise but sure was tasty. We ate and chatted, and I felt like I was a part of their family. The two young men, Vong, the guide from Ponsavan, and Lin, the Lao friend from Vientiane, both talked about their experiences being novices when they were younger. It was my belief that young Lao children become novices or monks because it was too expensive for their families to feed them, so they give the responsibility to the monasteries, but it turns out that that isn’t the case at all. Most of the time young boys enter monasteries for spiritual reasons. For example, when a member of the family dies, they need to make good karma in order to get into heaven, so a boy from the family has to enter the monastery and become a novice for a time. Both of the men spent time as a monk for that reason.

After lunch we went off to a small village about 50km from Ponsavan (I would never have made it there by bike!). It was a Hmong tribal village, and the main point of interest was the fact that there had incorporated bombs, dropped by the US in the ‘secret war’ in Laos, into their homes. They used the metal bomb casings as fence posts, as columns in their rice storage (apparently rats can’t get up them) in their gardens, all over the place. There used to be many more bombs in the village, but they have sold them for scrap metal in order to make a little extra cash. The children were smiling and lovely, and the village appeared to be extremely traditional. While we were there, there were no other tourists in the village, and it was nice to see a tourist site without running into foreigners everywhere.

Since arriving in Phonsavan I became fascinated by the secret war, and have started to learn more about the bombings here. Apparently this is the most intensely bombed region on earth. There was the equivalent of one planeload of bombs dropped every eight minutes for nine years throughout the ‘secret war’. More bombs were dropped here than in Japan and Germany combined throughout the entire World War II. I’m not exactly sure what the secret war was, something to do with stopping the spread of Communism, and the fact that Viet Kong were hiding in caves and mountains in Laos I believe, but I had never heard about it before arriving in this town.

I feel exactly as I felt when learning for the first time about the Nanjing Massacre….. I can’t believe this isn’t more widely known… How has it been kept from our history books? How is it that I have never even heard of it before? These days the consequences of that secret war are still devastating… UXO (Unexploded Ordinance) is basically bombs that were dropped that never exploded, so are still in tact and full of explosives. Anyway, a huge amount of UXO is found throughout Laos, and the highest concentration of which is in the area around Phonsavan. It’s dangerous and results in numerous deaths and injuries every year. Farmers are plowing fields to plant rice and strike UXO, people try to collect it to sell the explosives or scrap metal…

Luang Prabang... AKA feeding the monks

Luang Prabang was like a breath of fresh air after the slow boat. In fact, after the slow boat, anything would have been heaven, but Luang Prabang happened to be a stunningly beautiful town, probably one of my favourite places for just wandering the streets and relaxing. It’s easy to see why people arrive and then don’t leave for a week or more. I stayed five days, six nights, and could have easily have stayed longer if I didn’t have such a short time in Laos altogether. I swam in waterfalls, did a lot of mountain biking to villages and surrounding areas, wandered around the town, drank fruit shakes and ate local food and felt so relaxed.

While wandering the streets I encountered an organisation called Big Brother Mouse. It is an NGO that publishes colourful exciting children’s stories in Lao for children to read. Books are a very rare thing in Lao, and books with colourful pictures that are fun to read are even rarer. I spoke to a few of the volunteers there, including a Lao boy who at 17, still at high school, spends his free time working at the centre, illustrating stories that others have written. He said ‘When I was young, I’d never seen books like this before.’ He was really impressive, well spoken in English, and passionate about giving children books that are fun to read in order to encourage education and literacy in the Lao population. I had used my daily budget of $20 a day already, but I decided it was worth going over for this cause, so I bought 10 books to donate, then rather than taking them myself, which would have been lovely to see the smiles on the faces of the children as I gave them, I decided to ask the Big Brother Mouse crew to give the books on their next rural visit, to a place that really needed them. I figured I wouldn’t get to see it personally, but I wasn’t buying the books for me, so I may as well offer them where they were most needed. Tha Thao, the illustrator was such a charming young man that it was easy to forget he was only a high school student himself. He gave me a book that he had illustrated as a present, so I got to keep one. It just made me want to help, too. But there are so many injustices in the world, and so many charities, that you can’t manage to do everything. Maybe my $10 went a small way then.

The absolute highlight for me was the guesthouse I stayed in. Called the ‘Sipadith Guesthouse,’ I found it on a small street with some other places recommended in the lonely planet… but this one was new and a family-owned place, and appeared to have no guests at all. I liked the look of it, so bargained down to $4 per night for a room. The room itself was modern, light, airy, fantastic view of the mountain and temple, and meticulously clean. I loved it. But I loved the family more. They sat with me and tried very patiently to teach me some Lao words. Every time I opened my mouth they would laugh uproariously at my attempts to imitate the tones and sounds of the language, but they really enjoyed it. They seemed to think I was a genius for managing the ten basic phrases that I finally learnt!

The final day I set my alarm and woke up early to feel the monks. No, I didn’t say monkeys, I said monks. It’s known as ‘giving alms’ All the monks in temples get up very early in the morning, about 3:30 or 4am, and they pray for an hour before walking around the village collecting food as offerings. By about 5:30am they are walking around the town with their silver coloured pots to receive food from the townspeople who offer them a small handful of sticky rice each, but added up it becomes a day’s food for the monks and novices. I decided I didn’t want to just observe it and take photographs, but I wanted to participate. I asked the folks at my guest house what I should prepare and where I should go to give alms. They said that the monks pass right in front of the guest house, which made it quite convenient, but they didn’t know exactly what time. They suggested I prepare bananas and wafer biscuits in advance, and the father of the family woke up early with me to show me how to kneel properly in order to make the offering, and just basically to make sure I was okay. He offered to take some photos of me with the monks, but his photographic skills were less than impressive. He managed to get one shot, of one monk with his head chopped off, and I was hidden behind the monk! So after the monks finished in our street, I went off into the main road and took a few photographs of my own. It was definitely one of the most memorable moments of Laos so far, and well worth the 5am wake up.

Entering Laos - Huay Xai

I crossed the border into Laos at a little town called Chiang Khong… I planned to stay in Thailand for a day or so and get to know the feel of the town, but I when I got off the bus in the morning, I got in a Tuk Tuk and pointed on the map to the guesthouse I wanted to stay in, which happened to be quite close to the immigration point. Convenient for when I wanted to cross the border I thought. But the driver took me directly TO immigration, and my bag is so heavy I could not be bothered walking the 500 metres or so to the other side so decided I may as well cross over the river and enter Laos straight away... So I piled into a little longtail boat that crossed the Mekong river to get us to Laos, and went through immigration… The visa on arrival fee for Australians is $30 US… I didn’t have US dollars so paid Baht instead and paid a horrible exchange rate of over 40 Baht to the dollar (actual rate 33 baht to the dollar!). There were a whole bunch of people there about to get on a boat to Luang Prabang straight away, so if I wanted to I could have arranged to get on the slow boat then and there, but I decided I wanted to sit and enjoy the town on Huay Xai and get the feeling for Laos. I walked every inch of the very small town before settling in to a restaurant for a quick feed, where I met the Burmese guy from my last post.

My favourite experience in Huay Xai was without a doubt the traditional Lao Herbal Sauna. The Laos Red Cross runs a sauna and massage service, and so I decided to check it out. I thought it would be full of foreigners, especially because I read about it in the lonely planet, but to my pleasant surprise, there were none in sight. Just me and a whole bunch of local people who thought I was hysterical. I tried to communicate, but with absolutely no Lao language ability it was quite difficult, so basically had to play charades in the steam bath in order to communicate at all! I learnt my first Lao word – ‘hon’ means ‘hot’! The Lao ladies in the Sauna rubbed yoghurt into their skin while in the Sauna… I assume it was some kind of moisturiser or something. They offered me some too, so I tried it, but it was very weird. I could almost smell it going rancid on my body the longer I stayed in the heat of the Sauna! But the signs say that you have to wait at least two hours after getting out of the Sauna before showering in order to let the herbs sink in properly, so I left the rancid yoghurt on along with the herbs until just before bed… It did make me think, though… If the herbs sink into the skin and have a positive affect, how many other things that we put on our bodies have an equally strong negative affect? Surely the amount of DEET I have to smother on in order to prevent mosquito bites can’t be good for me? But at Huay Xai I didn’t worry too much about that question. I figured the natural herbs (and yoghurt) had balanced out the chemicals for at least one day.

The slow boat to Luang Prabang had absolutely stunning scenery, but was certainly an experience not to be repeated, for me at least. There were hundreds of tourists, all crammed on a very small boat, and I felt distinctly like we were cattle being herded onto the boat… As I got there rather late, there were few seats to be had. The only one left was on a wooden bench that had no cushion, and after a couple of hours it was quite painful. I couldn’t lean back, couldn’t shift my butt any which way that let it get comfortable. I guess it was good for meeting people, and there were some nice conversations on the boat. But there were a hell of a lot of the type of people that I try to avoid as well. But on the boat, I was stuck with them and could do nothing to avoid listening to whiny voices talking about getting drunk and boozing in pretty much every town in Thailand…

But the worst was yet to come. Day two on the boat was a disaster. I got there early enough to reserve a prime position on the floor, which was comfortable, but you couldn’t see anything from inside the boat, so I missed much of the scenery that I was supposed to be enjoying in the first place. Also, in presumedly a money-making enterprise by the boat company, everyone from the TWO boats that had made the journey from Huay Xai suddenly found themselves of the ONE boat going onto Luang Prabang! If we felt like cattle day one it was nothing compared to day two. Everyone from both boats had to be squeezed into the one boat, and then we continued to stop and pick up locals on the way! There was barely room to move, and I really felt like I was in Asia, despite the hundreds of foreign faces and chattering in English everywhere.

The people you meet....

One of the most fabulous things about travelling is the people that you meet on the way… A couple of days ago I encountered two Hungarians doing a very unconventional Round the World trip – in their jeep… (they drive overland where possible, but ship it where not). They are writing a blog for a hungarian newspaper and so far travelled overland through Europe, Turkey, Pakistan, Iran, India, Nepal, then shipped the car to Bangkok (initially the plan was to travel overland through Tibet, China and down through Thailand, but they met with a beauracratic nightmare at the border and were not allowed to enter the country. Their plan is to keep travelling for another twelve months, down south east asia to Indonesia, then shipping the car to Darwin and through Australia and then shipping the car again to the US before travelling around the States and then Central and South America. Their story was inspirational to me, but still I'm content to use planes and public transport.

In Huay Xai, on the border of Thailand and Laos, I met a Burmese man, who left Burma when he was 20. He was arrested multiple times for particating in demonstrations, finally escaping the regime and attaining asylum in Belgium. He now lives in Thailand and was in Huay Xai, the border town, to do a border run so he could renew his visa. He is a journalist for a magazine, also available on internet in English, called the Irrawaddy (named after the river that runs through the country) – http://www.irrawaddy.org/. It is about events in Asia but most particularly events in Burma. His father is a member of Aung San Suu Kyi’s party, who continues to work ‘on the front line’ from within Burma to fight for independence. It really made me think about what is important. Like the Tibetan Lama, he continues to have faith that there will be a change, and he keeps fighting to make a difference.

I met a man who has been travelling the world for 20 years. He started in 1988 and hasn’t stopped since. Impressive. But I only met him in passing so didn’t really get a chance to hear his story.

I also met an American, Stacey, who didn’t know the difference between the Australian flag and the British flag… When we all arrived home from the soccer, with Aussie flags on our cheeks, she looks at the dutch guy and says ‘Oh, you have the British flag on your cheek’… When he corrected her, ‘no, it’s actually the Australian flag’… I kid you not, she actually replied ‘oh, I wouldn’t know, I’m American.’ Classic moment, and very funny, in a kind of sad, pathetic way. As Jochem, the Dutch guy said, most people don’t know all the flags in the world, but there are some key ones that every English speaking person should know, and that’s the flags of other English speaking countries. Kind of indicative of the reason why most the world has little respect for America as a country and Americans in general. I know there are fantastic Americans out there, I’ve met some of them, but the sad fact is, many that I encounter in my travels are ignorant, and often a little ridiculous. I have met a couple of embarrassing Australians as well, but somehow I’m always able to rationalise them away as being the exception, rather than the rule...

Soccer in Bangkok

I didn’t know there were so many soccer-mad Australians out there, but I ran into a bunch of them here at Big John’s guesthouse. There are at least ten of them staying here, apparently the ‘Asia Cup’ is in Thailand at the moment. Four different countries are hosting, Indonesia, Malaysia, Vietnam and Thailand, with matches in each of these countries. Australia played its first game against Oman (to be honest, I had to look it up, but it’s a little oil rich Middle Eastern country nestled between the Persian Gulf, UAE, Yemen and Saudi Arabia) decided that it could be fun to go along, being that I happened to be in Bangkok, so I went along with a dutch guy, a Brit, an Aussie, and myself. We were all pretending to be Australians for the day. I’d taken the Aussie to MBK earlier in the day to get a sim card and have his phone unlocked… he was entirely ungrateful, especially because I made the trip to show him where to get it done, having no purpose to go for myself. A nice enough guy though, apart from being so mad about soccer (sorry, “football” you’re supposed to call it if you’re a true fan…. But as I’m not it’ll still be soccer here) I had an interesting conversation with him, in which I proposed that despite all the hype, it’s really just a game… (I lived in Europe long enough to know all about the rivalries and craze surrounding it, and I know very well that to many people it becomes their life, but essentially, at heart, it’s just 10 guys from two teams playing a game…. I was being a bit contrary and a bit cheeky I guess, but he did not take it well at all and acted like I had insulted his mother. I just wanted some kind of acknowledgement that take away all of the hype surrounding it, it was just a game of soccer, but I was kidding myself so I backed down as he was incredibly offended and I had no hope of changing his mind. Anyway, I enjoyed my first soccer experience, despite the empty stadium and stormy weather… Oman played very well and one of the best things about the game to me were their supporters… I really enjoyed the Omani fans, who danced and played musical instruments and chanted throughout the whole game. Australia were lucky, in the last two minutes of the game they scored an equalising goal, and managed a 1:1 draw, but they didn’t impress me greatly. The Omani supporters, though, I loved watching them. After the game, they danced through the pouring rain all the way out of the stadium. Certainly enough to make me want to check out what sort of a country it is and go there myself.

Getting legs and underams waxed in Bangkok

I got my legs and underarms waxed yesterday. Sometimes I just love doing ordinary things on my travels, nothing touristy at all. So I walked into MBK and found a beauty salon and decided to get a wax treatment. But with the beautician having very little English, and me very little Thai it was quite a comical process. She looked at my legs, and shook her head, and said ‘Madame’ in quite a horrified voice. I assume that was because I was kicked by a horse on the horse trek and have a colourful bruise, as well as having a number of mosquito bites and ingrown hairs, the effect of which is multicolour legs that are not pretty. She waxed away, though, albeit with a shake of the head and a horrified ‘Madame’ occasionally. I occasionally replied with a ‘sorry’ in Thai, that she was subjected to my horrible legs. When she got to my underarms, though, I suddenly redeemed myself. After getting rid of the hairs under one arm, she smiled. ‘Madame,’ she said, this time with a relieved intonation, ‘Very nice. Good.’ I felt like I had something to be proud of, at least! It’s funny how much you are able to communicate with just some basic words and hand gestures.

Visiting Panasonic in Bangkok (my two day adventure)

Today I went out to Panasonic, which is a long way from the centre of Bangkok. With thanks to ‘Oh’, the lovely lady at my guesthouse, I found two buses that would take me there. The first was an aircon bus, comfortable and clean, that took me half way. The second was an open-air ‘chicken’ bus, although there were no chickens on it, it was exactly the type of bus that you might imagine chickens sharing with you… Everyone looked at me like I was crazy and farangs (Thai – foreigner) are never seen on buses, but I was determined. It was easy, actually, and my arrival at Panasonic was almost anticlimactic. I waited for hours while a technician looked at my camera, only to quote 5000 baht (Australian $180) to repair. I thought that I could probably buy a whole new camera for that, so said ‘no thanks’ and took my camera home. The trip home was a little more eventful, and I got lost when getting off the first bus, ended up in a shopping mall… that’s always bad news! I asked at information how to find the 501 bus, only to find it doesn’t go past the mall… So I decided to take the easy road, and got a taxi the rest of the way. While I was in the mall, however, I checked out prices of new cameras… I could find a couple that were cheaper than 5000 baht, but most of them were simple, point and shoot cameras without a zoom…. I thought about buying one, but then I worried about international warranties, etc, and got so confused that I gave up. Back at the guesthouse I checked out the internet, and found out that cameras are expensive in Australia and Thailand, but cheap in China and the US. Essentially, I wanted a camera now though, to capture my trip… so I made the decision that although it was expensive I was going to have to trek out to Panasonic the next day again and get it repaired. The next day I went by my combination of aircon bus and chicken bus (to my disappointment, again no chickens) out to Panasonic. First thing in the morning it only took an hour and a half to get there! I sat and waited a couple of hours, only to be told that they needed 3 more hours, so I went back to the mall from the previous day and wandered the aircon shops there, before sleeping on one of the food court tables. At 3pm, I made my way back to Panasonic, collected my camera, which only cost 3065 baht to repair in the end. Bonus! After that I made my way back to Bangkok. This time I was determined to get buses the whole way, so I vaguely communicated to the conductor that I wanted to swap with the 501 bus. She vaguely seemed to understand and told me where to get off, where another local person took pity on me and helped me find the 501 bus stop and work out which direction to go. So I made my way back to Bangkok, after two days basically full of nothing but sitting on buses and in Panasonic headquarters.

Arriving in Bangkok

Today, I walked the city for hours and hours, trying to find two things. First, a place to repair my camera that inexplicably stopped taking photos the day I left China. Second, to find the best deals I could find for round-the-world (RTW) flights. After walking what felt like every street in Bangkok, I found that no one was willing to repair Panasonic cameras and everyone directed me to the Panasonic factory customer service centre, closed until Monday. I also found that all RTW flights were expensive…. They started at over $2000 Australian, for just simple flights to the US and Europe. I was in the centre of cheap flights all over the world and there wasn’t a cheap RTW deal to be found anywhere. I felt demoralised. Returning to Big John’s Guesthouse – great location, clean, lovely staff except for John himself – I found that a bunch of Aussies had arrived that afternoon for the Asia Cup. One of the guys first thing gave me a web address that had heaps of RTW deals that look fantastic…. www.bestflights.com.au It’s an Australian company, all flights start and leave from Australia, but they have fantastic combination deals, they are flexible… maybe not as flexible as I want them to be, but not many international airlines fly in and out of the Democratic Republic of Congo… So it looks like I’m returning to Australia, a year earlier than intended… One week into my ‘world tour’ and making the decision to fly home was a little disheartening, but now that I’ve had time to process things I kind of like the idea. I have way too much stuff to travel comfortably, would be good to dump some of it at home. And I always like the idea of catching up with friends and family. But if I had done even the slightest bit of research on the net before arriving in Bangkok, blindly assuming that RTW tickets would be cheap there, I would have found that the discussion had been had on just about every travel forum that exists, time and time again, and the conclusion every time was that Bangkok is NOT the place to buy RTW. The best deals are in Australia, so everyone has been advised to fly to Oz and purchase there. If I had known this, I wouldn’t have bought a year of travel insurance that becomes null and void the minute I step into Australian soil… Anyway, a lesson about planning I guess….

The highlight of my trip.... chatting with a lama in a Tibetan temple

Day two of the horse trek, we all waited around for quite a while in the morning. Two of the horses had disappeared overnight and needed to be rounded up before they could go for the day – this was quite worrisome to me when I heard it – what would happen if they couldn’t find the horses? But the guides seemed unfazed. I think that kind of thing happens a lot. ‘No problem’ they told me. But my horse and guide were present, and demanding that we start our journey home.

So I had to say goodbye to Tom and Elaine. Saying goodbye to Elaine was difficult, we both had a bit of a cry and lots of hugs. She organised the Tibetan guides to help her sing a traditional Tibetan song of welcome and farewell and she did a Tibetan tea ceremony in which we both sipped from the same cup… It was so moving, and we were both sobbing… I think some of the guides and other tourists thought it was all a bit weird, and didn’t realise that I was saying goodbye to one of my best friends, and didn’t know when the next time I would see her would be. The farewell was short but sweet, though, as I had to get on the horse and ride into the distance. Quite poetic really.

Just sitting on the horse had become incredibly painful. Every time the horse moved it jarred my pelvic bone and I felt like I was being pounded there by a large hammer. I don’t know what I was doing wrong because later Elaine told me she had no pain after the three day trip, but I was in agony. It must have been the way I was sitting. But, oh, it still hurts to think about it.

The ride home was serene, with only Mr Horse as company. We sat in silence for long stretches, and chatted at length as well. He told me about his wife and kids, his extended family, how they celebrate the new year… I was surprised to find out he was only a year older than me… His weathered face and his solemn nature gave him the illusion of age and wisdom. He told me that it was time I went home to be near my parents and got married and had babies. I thanked him for his advice, but inwardly was able to just laugh about the cultural difference… I suppose in rural Sichuan province there are no other options for a woman other than marriage and babies. That is their duty and their life. And they seem quite content with their lot. But it made me very glad I am not a woman of Sichuan province.

The absolute highlight of the trip was meeting a Tibetan Lama and being invited into his house. It was only 15 minutes, but it was so moving, so inspirational, that I have relived it in my mind many times since. We spoke mandarin, which was neither of our first languages, but somehow we were able to communicate just fine. For the purposes of this blog I’ll refer to him as Mr Monk. That’s not his real name by the way. It may seem a little paranoid and secret agent of me, but I’m a little afraid if his identity gets out he will be persecuted. Anyway, the first thing I saw when I entered his home was a huge poster of the Dalai Lama. Having been to Tibet three years ago, I had heard many tales of persecution and arrests connected to the Dalai Lama. According to the Chinese, he is an enemy of the state, a counter-revolutionary, guilty of stirring up the foreign press with ideas of Tibetan freedom. The Chinese government has been slowly trying to erode the respect and love of the Tibetan people for him from within, waging a war of propaganda and oppression. Just owning a picture of the Dalai Lama is a crime punishable by up to three years jail. When I mentioned that to Mr Monk, he told me about his younger brother, who is currently in jail in Beijing. He is scheduled to be released from jail next year. His crime? He was carrying a picture of the Dalai Lama about the size of a playing card, but he had it hidden. Behind a picture of Chairman Mao! I think it was using Chairman Mao for such a purpose that must have got him the extra year in jail! I warned Mr Monk that he could get in a lot of trouble if people from the government saw the poster. He said that he knew it well, but it was one of his treasures and he was not willing to compromise or hide it. He told me that he travelled overland, walking most the way, across Tibet to India with the aim of reaching Darumsala and laying eyes on the Dalai Lama. He tried twice. Both times he was intercepted by Chinese officials and sent home. He says his dream is to see the Dalai Lama with his own two eyes. Just to see him would be enough, he said. He believes in him that strongly. That faith, devotion even, is so impressive to me. It really made me think. In Australia we are lucky enough to have the Dalai Lama visit, where people can see him freely, school children went to hear him speak on an excursion, some prominent officials were even able to meet with him. And no one there realises what a true honour that would be to an ordinary farmer or Lama in Tibet. Some people even refuse the honour of a meeting out of fear of reprisals by the Chinese government, like Melbourne mayor, John So. He lost all credibility in my eyes when he did that. But I don’t want this to turn into a rant… I just treasure the memory of meeting someone with a faith so pure and strong, with such conviction, that he would travel thousands of kilometres on foot, with only the hope of seeing the Dalai Lama. It was a fifteen minute meeting, but it’s impact will last for a lifetime.

The Case of the Disappearing Shoe.... Still in Songpan

We went for a walk along the stream after I got back from the village, and were joined by an Israeli who kind of invited himself along. I always marvel at the confidence of such people, who can simply amble about and invite themselves into any gathering even when not wanted. He certainly wasn’t wanted by any of us – it being my last evening with Elaine, I didn’t want to spend it chatting with a stranger, having the same old ‘Where are you from?’, ‘Where are you travelling to?’ conversations that are pretty standard on the tourist scene. Interestingly, I asked my guide in his 20 years of experience, which nationality were the worst guests – the worst behaved and the rudest – and he said that Israelis were the worst, followed by Americans. Incidentally, he said the best tourists come from Australia, Taiwan, Korea, and Sweden.

So anyway, back to the story. Tom, Elaine, random Israeli guy and I went for a walk. We crossed the stream several times by walking across logs strategically placed along the river, then got to a point where there was no log and we couldn’t cross. I sat on a rock and pondered the situation, when we see another tourist coming from the other direction promptly take off his shoes and socks and cross the river on foot. Don’t know why any of us didn’t think of that. So we took of our shoes and socks and proceeded to cross over the rocks. At this stage I was holding my shoes and socks in one hand, my camera and purse in the other… You can guess what’s coming next I’m sure. I lost my footing about midway over the river. Luckily, the only thing to suffer was one of my shoes, which fell into the swiftly moving water. I watched it speed away from me with a combination of shock and horror, unable to go diving after it thanks to my money belt, camera and assortment of other things that I still held in my hands.

Israeli guy actually proved helpful then. He ran down the road barefoot after the shoe, but it was moving so fast none of us had any real hope of chasing it down. I gave up pretty much straight away, and hobbled myself back to camp in a bit of a stink, but the other three kept looking for the missing shoe along the river for a long time. I guess their theory had merit – they thought there might have been another log pass further up that would have trapped the shoe under it, or something like that. I didn’t really have much hope. Israeli guy said out of sympathy he would walk the rest of the way shoeless… I think it was supposed to make me feel better but I just thought it was silly and pointless, especially on my walk back when I had to be very careful of broken glass from bottles along the way… All in all, I wasn’t at my most charitable right then. Running through my head was a medley of thoughts, starting from, ‘How am I going to ride a horse without a shoe?’ to ‘Now I have to go and tell the guides about this and they’re all going to laugh at me…. Finally I struck the big one. Shit. How was I going to get the orthotic replaced that was inside the shoe? This became an insurmountable obstacle in my mind – the personalised orthotic couldn’t be replaced in China – I’d had one made before at a specialist podiatry section of Nanjing’s best hospital and it was worse than useless and a total waste of the 300 kuai I spent on it. Maybe Bangkok would be a better bet, but I had no idea of where to start. I could find out whether the orthotic could be reproduced in Melbourne, but then I had to work out where to get it sent to, as my idea was to spend the next 12 months travelling…

I had let my mind become a monster; it was spurning out negative thought after another… I knew I had to get some perspective. I was unharmed. I had been through much worse. Elaine came back and chatted with me, and it was that process that really helped me. The process of talking through the issues really brought home to me the idea that a problem shared is a problem halved. She helped me talk to the guides and they gave me a pair of gumboots to wear. Suddenly, I was able to laugh about it, and as I danced Tibetan style with a drunk Tibetan man in my black gumboots, it was as if it had never happened…

Songpan Horse Trek

I absolutely loved Songpan - looking back, it's probably one of my favourite towns in China for just wandering around and people watching... It was our base for the horse trek that Elaine, Tom and I decided to take. A town in which the Han people are a minority, it was alive with colour. Tibetans, Hui, Qiang (a minority that I hadn’t heard of before arriving in Sichuan, and still don’t know much about)… All of them wearing national dress, totally unscripted and unprompted by the government. It wasn’t a tourist town, although there were tourists there, but it felt lived in.

The horse trek was a feast for all our senses. Such beautiful scenery, viewed while rocking back and forth on a horse. My mount was called ‘qima’ which translated to ‘ride a horse’. Not very imaginative, but apt. At first the Tibetans teased me by telling me it’s name was ‘mochenghou’ and I called him that for hours until Mr Ma, my guide, whose name rather appropriately means Mr Horse, told me that it was a bad word in Tibetan and I shouldn’t say it. So I learnt to swear in Tibetan, I still remember the bad words now, but have no idea what it means because Mr Horse refused to tell me, only that it was ‘bad’.

We rode for the morning before setting up camp sometime early afternoon. I then went alone to the Tibetan village about a half hour ride past the camp. I wasn’t going to be going to the snow-capped mountains with the others as I had a plane to catch, so Mr Horse offered to take me a little further so I could get a look at them.

So the two of us set off to the next village, where I was invited into one of the local’s homes for tea. There were two extremely cute little kids playing in the yard, neither of whom spoke a word of Mandarin, and they both laughed outrageously when I tried my two phrases of Tibetan. They loved having their photos taken, though so I snapped away until I was about to lose battery. The tea was spicy and warm, made from Sichuan peppers, better known as ‘numbing peppers’ because the flavour is, well, numbing. It’s hard to describe for people that have never had it before, but it makes your mouth tingle and salivate. Apparently the tea is great for altitude sickness, a tradition Tibetan remedy. I felt so blessed to be able to enter their home, I wanted to take photos but didn’t want them to feel like I was treating them like a tourist attraction, so I compromised by taking photos of the children who obviously loved the process, and so didn’t get any shots of the old man.

Starting my travel journal - China

Two weeks ago, I finished up my contract in Nanjing, and took myself on a sleeper train for 2 nights and a day all the way to Chengdu, with the final aim of arriving in Jiuzhaigou (Nine Village Valley)…

For the first time in ages I felt inspired. I was travelling again, in a new world… It was China, but the mountain ranges we passed on the train, then on the bus became increasingly foreign, as we approached the highlands that formerly were occupied by Tibet.

Jiuzhaigou was such an impressive place. I didn’t know such natural beauty existed in China, but it was so pristine, the waters were crystal clear, and it really felt like I stepped into another world… It was so remarkable, worth every cent of the 220 kuai ($36) entry fee plus the 180 kuai ($30) bus ticket for the two days.

The only negative was the hoards of people. There are 1.3billion people in China, and I swear, it felt like every one of them was at the National Park, especially day two when the weather fined up. Thankfully Elaine had a plan to avoid the tourists, by walking between lakes. The feeling of walking amidst the natural beauty was refreshing, and at times it felt like we were the only ones in the whole park. The rain helped to thin out the numbers of tourists too, so I welcomed it fully.