The Travelling Life of Silvan Colani
May 2002 - Laos
After a number of fairly relaxed, organized, resort-style holidays I felt it was about time to go back to basics on a dusty adventure/discovery trip. What better idea than to hit the road by motorbike in Laos with my good friend Martin with whom I had shared a number of similar out-of-the-ordinary adventures in the past and who makes great - albeit chronically chaotic - company on such travels.
We met up at the Honey Hotel in Bangkok, arguably the best meeting point in South East Asia, given its inexpensive accommodation, easy reach from the airport (less than 20 mins these days!!) and close proximity to Soi Cowboy (the Long Gun is still going strong!!!).
So after one night in Bangkok we headed for the airport and onto our flight to Vientiane, capital of Laos. We arrived on a Sunday and by daytime the word "sleepy" doesn't even start to describe the town. The entire population of 133,000 must have been hiding somewhere. But at least this gave the city a very laid-back feeling, which after a hectic week in Hong Kong was exactly what I was coming for. We checked into the Dragon Lodge, a neat new guesthouse in the center of the city, which our taxi driver had recommended. A large, clean twin room with aircond and hot shower was $12 for the night.
Later that day we organized our motorbikes for the week, which was surprisingly easy. We found two well-maintained Honda 250cc bikes in a baguette-cum-rental-shop near the hotel. We got the bikes for US$ 100 each for the week - clearly a good bargain.
Next on the agenda was a visit to a contact of a client of mine. We had given her a call earlier that day and met up with her and her husband for an iced coffee. Having studied in Beijing many years ago, she spoke fluent Mandarin while her husband spoke excellent French. It turned out that my Chinese was better than my French, but Martin's a fluent Francophone and we conversed quite easily. They very kindly offered to show us around town and into the outskirts with their car, which we gladly accepted. Vientiane is situated very funnily right at the Mekong river which marks the border to Thailand, and we went to check out the Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge which crosses the river a few kilometers out of town. The conversations in the car revolved around anything and only when the topic of communism came up (Laos is a communist country) did we decide not to comment since the husband seemed to have fairly strong views in this respect. Eventually they dropped us off in the city and we decided on a massage at
Mixay Massage. This was an excellent place (no hanky-panky) where an hour of massage costs US$ 3.
Thereafter we had to sort out Martin's luggage problem; which was that his luggage got lost and had not arrived in Bangkok the previous day. The airline promised to forward it to Vientiane but Martin was not too optimistic about seeing his beloved underwear again so soon. But his doubts were unfounded: As we arrived at the airport that night his bag was already waiting there for him. We decided to celebrate this auspicious occasion with plenty of Beerlao in various bars/pubs/discos around town. Beerlao, by the way, is a great example of Laotian marketing ingenuity, since its name clearly implies that 1) this is beer and 2) this is from Laos.
But back to the bars. Vientiane's nightlife was considerably more busy than its day life with young people suddenly emerging from everywhere, cruising about on their motorbikes or bicycles. In the first place we went to we explained the bar tender the concept of 'Happy Hour' (which was somewhat new to him) and chatted with a local girl who had worked four years in Pakistan as a telecom engineer.
Next up we stumbled into a local 'dance hall' that someone had pointed out to us on the street. That place was completely local, with elder gentlemen (party officials?) dancing with heavily make-up covered young ladies to incredibly loud live Thai- or Laopop. We ordered two beers, which was a mistake, because we got two large bottles of Beerlao and had thus to stay a while longer.
The last place for the night was clearly the best and will make it into my 'Top 10 Night Spots in Asia', if I ever get around to put this up on this web site. It was called Chess Café and was owned by the younger brother of our contact this afternoon. It was a non-descript kind of place from a decoration point of view. But the music was great and the local crowd was living it up on a Sunday night. There were only girls dancing (maybe Sunday night is Ladies Night in Vientiane…) but not of the kind you are thinking about. This was simply a young crowd having a good time. We were in great demand on the dance floor and obviously enjoyed ourselves tremendously. Although our guidebook said that all bars and discos are required to close at 11:30 pm, this place simply kept on rocking. They did however switch off the aircond at 11:30, which might be a more subtle way to kick out your patrons. We kept dancing and sweating until 1 am and were clearly not the last to leave at that time.
I slept incredibly well (either because of our massage, the large quantities of Beerlao or the strenuous dancing). We were ready to hit the road. We collected our bikes, filled up our tank and headed north, destination Vang Vieng (165 kms). The traffic of Vientiane slowly started to give way to empty roads and beautiful countryside. We were mostly driving through flat lands on a well-paved road (Rte 13). Only about two-thirds down the distance did the road slowly start winding up a few hills. We had lunch at a lone shack along a river where one of the guys spoke German - having studied once in East Germany (must be some sort of Communist Exchange Program).
We actually missed the turn-off to our destination, which wasn't well marked. Having realized our mistake we turned around and arrived at Vang Vieng at around 4.00 pm. We checked into the beautiful Bungalow Thavonsouk right at the riverside, where a neat bungalow with aircond was US$ 18 (waterfront cottages are $30). The proprietor is a lovely lady - fluent in English and with a great sense of humor.
The landscape across the river is a spectacular range of limestone peaks (similar to Guilin in China) with plenty of caves to explore. The old lady suggested we check out the nearest one, which we did. Thereafter, she recommended we might want to go tubing. Tubing means you grab an inflated truck tire, take a Tuk Tuk 7 kms up the river, jump into the water and re-emerge 45 mins later at your point of departure - all for 10,000 kip, or US$ 1. We added 6,000 kip for two Beerlao and not long thereafter found ourselves drifting down the Nam Sang. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and regretted not having brought more beer. The ride was smooth and relaxing and occasional wild around a bend or two. It was a perfect sunset cruise and luckily we did not miss the exit at the end.
Later that night we drank with a group of Israelis (of which there are quite a few in Laos - must be some kind of occupation!). The girls were very entertaining but the guys had to go and do the laundry, which suited us fine. We chatted away about the meaning of life, politics, and sharp shooting (the cute 22-year old blonde turned out to be a sniper instructor!!!). It was again way beyond the official curfew of 11:30 when we all went home (this time they simply turned off the lights at 11:30).
The goal for Tuesday was to reach the former royal capital Luang Prabang, some 200 kms north. The ride was spectacular as we continuously headed higher, through craggy limestone formations and along breathtaking mountain ridges. Traffic was virtually non-existent and most road hazards consisted of free-running chickens, crazy cows, slimy snakes and suicidal pigs dashing across the road.
The highlights of the entire trip were the locals, particularly the kids that greeted us all along the way. We were like a presidential entourage or a famous rock group on tour: everywhere we went people dropped whatever they were doing, staring at us, waving at us - even saluting us (especially after we added the Laos and the Communist Party flag to our bikes!). Some kids were in complete awe at our sight - possibly caused by the fact that with my unfitting helmet and wrap-around sunglasses I looked like a distant relative of Darth Vader of Star Wars. To some, we were alien for sure.
Luang Prabang is a scenic town that lies at the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. It features a number of Wats that date back to the 15th Century. Thanks to the French, there is also an abundance of old - and sometimes crumbling - colonial-style buildings of the early 1900s. Some of these have been converted into restaurants and guesthouses. We stayed at the Sayo Guesthouse, which featured brick-wall rooms with four or five meter ceilings and rustic furniture - all for $10 per night.
We also had a look at Auberge La Calao Inn which has beautifully restored rooms with terraces overlooking the Mekong for $65 per night with airond. Not so impressive was the Villa Santi , which is supposedly the best place in town. Although its rooms were very nicely and authentically decorated, they were rather small and for US$ 65 the view consisted of a banana tree and the walled fence of the hotel ("garden view" they called it).
We spent the next day discovering Luang Prabang, climbing Phu Si - the local hill, and driving out to the Kuang Si waterfalls where we had a swim on top of the falls.
The local nightlife centered around one stretch of road that featured a number of restaurants, bars and Internet cafes catering to backpackers. The thing about backpackers - and 90% of tourism in Laos seems to consist of budget travelers - is that they always either seem to sit in front of a PC writing emails or frequent restaurants that feature "DVD night" where they all watch "Saving Private Ryan" or "Face Off". Vang Vieng was the worst in this respect with almost every single restaurant blaring out a Hollywood action flick. It appears to me that backpackers spend more hours in front of a screen than I do back at the office.
Email from backpacker John:
Dear Mom. Have arrived in Luang Prabang, Laos.
Was watching 'Double Jeopardy' last night and will be seeing 'The Mexican' tonight.
Will write again tomorrow. Love, John.
Of course, backpackers spend long hours on the rooftop of dusty buses going from here to there and they were thus unanimously envious of our more comfortable - and indeed much cooler - mode of transportation.
Despite a rather tame nightlife in Luang Prabang we had some fun nevertheless, playing Cho Dai Dee. Most of the fun, however, was at my expense since I kept losing. We played in the garden of the Villa Santi which was pleasant but comparatively expensive ($2 for a small Beerlao was the most we've ever paid). Nevertheless, they offered free Mekong seaweed snacks and the garden featured a small fountain in a pot into which - to the complete astonishment of the entire staff - I stuck my head after having lost the first game. We then hurriedly left.
After having lost a further game I was to drown a glass of Lao Lao, a locally brewed spirit made from sticky rice. It's not very strong - but it smells horribly. The previous night our Cho Dai Dee punishment consisted of eating half a chilly and standing for a minute under a fly-infested lamp.
The destination for Thursday was Phonsavan in the East of the country towards the border with Vietnam. The distance from Luang Prabang is about 200 kms, whereby we first had to drive back part of our previous journey to the crossroad town of Phu Khun. From there we headed East on Rte 7, a road that offered both the best and the worst driving of the entire trip. Initially we made tremendous progress since Rte 7 is a beautiful, newly sealed road (apart from a 12 km gap - but more about that in a second). We were easily driving at speeds of 80-100 km/h on this scenic route, winding its way casually along mountain ridges to the East. There was almost no traffic and just as I was calculating on an early afternoon arrival given our speed and remaining distance, the smooth asphalt suddenly gave way to dirt and rubble. Obviously Rte 7 was not yet entirely complete. Nothing to worry about, I though, a few kilometers through the dust with our sturdy bikes is no big deal. A few 100 meters on and we suddenly had to stop, since a construction crew was busy clearing one obstructed part of the way. Sensing that this could not take too long we patiently waited while a bus and two more vehicles pulled up behind us.
And then it started to rain. Totally unannounced and out of nowhere, dark rain clouds suddenly engulfed us and it began to pour down. I just managed to pull out my raincoat and jump into the stationary bus, hoping this shower would be over in a matter of minutes. But it wasn't. It kept pouring and the dirt road quickly turned into a mud pit. In the meantime the road blockage had been cleared and the bus and other vehicles were eager to move on. And so we moved on, too. Cautiously mounting our bikes and slowly navigating us up the hill it took me about 200 meters before I fell the first time. Right into the mud, the bike trapping my foot underneath. With Martin's help I was up again quickly with no serious damage to bike or rider.
There was no other option but to go on. From the Chinese construction crew on the bus we were able to learn that the sealed road would commence again in about 7-8 kms. And so we kept moving, slowly and gingerly, in the deep muddy tracks of vehicles ahead of us. Once over the hill it was mostly sliding down - until we got stock again. A truck was stuck deep in the mud on a narrow part of the road. Everything came to a standstill. For a motorbike it seemed possible to pass on two points: 1) either very close past the truck or 2) over a little mud wall. I successfully managed option one and before I had a chance to turn around and signal Martin to follow, he was stuck deep in the mud on option two, not being able to move forward or backward.
After many attempts we eventually pulled his bike free, essentially be sliding it sideways down the mud. By now the soggy mud didn't bother us anymore. It had stopped raining but we were covered in dirt from top to bottom.
After three hours of slipping and sliding in the mud, the sealed Rte 7 did reappear and we sped through pine forests to Phansavan. But not before Martin managed to break his clutch in another fall (actually while trying to get off his stationary bike - a rare feat he would repeat a few more times).
Phonsavan is a dusty and non-descript town famous for the nearby Plain of Jars, a field littered with ancient stone jars of mysterious origin. We checked into the Maly Guesthouse which at $20 per room seemed rather expensive but promised hot showers which seemed priceless at that point in time (it turned out that they did not work!). We also managed to get Martin's clutch replaced in a local shop for 20,000 kip ($2).
We also made inquiries about the next day's travel, whereby we hoped to drive back to Vang Vieng via a different route rather than back on Rte 7. While what we originally had in mind seemed clearly out of the question due to distance and potential guerilla activity, there was suddenly talk of another road, not properly marked on our maps. It was supposed to go via Long Cheng, the clandestine headquarters of the CIA during the 'secret war' from 1964 to 1973. Apparently it was off limits to Americans, whose government does not want them to know too much about some of the less heroic history chapters. However, Colonel Susath, proprietor at the Maly Guesthouse, was of the opinion that the trip can be done in a long day, if the Army was not going to turn us around (and if they did it anyway meant it wasn't safe). As far as Col. Susath could tell, no Western tourist had ever attempted that route. Based on a map of Col. Susath, the trip was feasible by bike. (Long Cheng does not, or wrongly, appear on most maps even though with the American military presence it once became the second-largest city in the country and one of the busiest airports in the world, sitting in a deep, well-covered mountain valley.) The trip sounded tempting to our adventurous minds, but crazy nevertheless. The question of supplies, fuel, emergency assistance, potential rebel activity, road conditions, etc. all weighted heavily on our minds. Eventually, we made the following decision: We would drive a maximum of 100kms or 3 hours into the jungle. If by then we did not reach Long Cheng we would turn around, since otherwise we would never be able to reach our final destination before nightfall.
We started off early in next morning (6 am), following a hand-drawn map with various references. We filled up at the last possible fuel stop and soon thereafter all signs of civilization ended. The road turned into a path and then into not much more than a track. The first obstacle was a two-meter wide mud pit that had to be crossed, which we did. Thereafter the road got more and more treacherous. Up a valley, down a valley, through a river, over stones... progress was extremely slow. In three hours we passed only two farms, whose inhabitants were thoroughly shocked by our appearance. We also passed two military patrols, which we simply ignored. But our progress was far too slow and I seriously questioned the wisdom of our endeavor. Any fall or accident would see us stuck with two bananas and two bottles of water in the middle of nowhere (Martin did indeed fall and break his clutch again!) After close to 3 hours (at 9:45 am) and less than 40 kms of jungle covered (with no sign of Long Cheng) I decided to turn around. It was the only sensible thing to do. Martin seemed reluctant initially but with a broken clutch and a few more falls eventually he also saw the point. And thus Long Cheng, or code name 'Alternate' by Air America, or designation 'Lima Site 20A' by the US Air Force, or nickname 'Shangri-La by the Ravens (a code name for US pilots in Laos) will remain as secret and mysterious as it has been with no Western eyes setting sight on it in almost 30 years.
Returning back obviously meant another 3-hour backbreaking ride to Phonsavan with the added entertainment of Martin falling close to a group of cows and again right in the mud pit.
From Phonsavan it was three hours back to Phu Khun and from there two hours to Vang Vieng where we finally arrived just before 6 pm, exactly 12 hours after having set off in the morning. My ass hurt seriously. Never before had I spent so many hours on a motorbike in a single day over such treacherous territory. But our timing was impeccable. Less than an hour after our arrival we witnessed the wildest tropical rain and lighting storm. The thought of us getting stuck in this sort of weather somewhere in the jungle was scary indeed. But here we were, playing Cho Dai Dee in the dry and drinking large quantities of Beerlao.
Next morning we slept late since there was no need for an early start given our reasonably short (160 kms) ride back to Vientiane. After an excellent cheese omelet and yet another tank full of Shell gas, we headed off towards the capital. This gives me an opportunity to say a few words about traffic signals in Laos. Some bends were signaled, but interestingly, sharp U-turn like curves were always preceded by an 'S-bend' signal. Somebody must have gotten the alphabet wrong or they simply ran out of "sharp turn ahead" signs. As regards to traffic lights we counted a total of three sets in the entire country (all in Vientiane).
Anyway, we made it back safely and in one piece to Vientiane where we returned our muddy bikes in less than pristine condition. I actually had to pull Martin back to the shop since his sparkplug failed at our very last stop!!!).
For our last night we got another excellent massage (which by now we dearly needed) and then we hit town again. Firstly we crashed into a private birthday party, where Martin was too reluctant to eat the free food. We thus had dinner in a French restaurant, trying to find out what legacies the colonialists had left behind. The food was OK but the house red was of headache quality. Next up we hit Zeaza, a packed place with a local starlet performing live with a dance troupe. Then it was back to Chess Café where the girls seemed slightly more "commercial" than last time around. Once that place quieted down everybody headed to the Future, which was packed again. Having seen the Future, I can tell you it's neither bright, nor orange!
And thus ended an exciting trip - with unhealthy quantities of Beerlao to celebrate our safe return and some cheap French wine for extra headache.
For sure, Laos is well worth a visit for the adventurous type. The innocence of its people and its unspoiled natural environment make it a truly memorable destination. Avoid the mud if you can and should you ever make it to the secret CIA base in Long Cheng, please send me a postcard.
