S S S S Saigon Saigon
haha, now in saigon, sorry, thats ho chi minh city, (renamed to increase employment in the signpost sector). Have spent last few days in phnom penh waiting for my vietnam visa to become valid, so took the opportunity to brush up on my pool and pint lifting skills.This morning i quit the madness of cambodia for the uplands of organisation which is vietnam. A 2 hour coach ride (that could rather dispointingly be called, comfortable and uneventful) deposited us at the border. I think i may have made some disparaging comment on Loas style communist buerocracy when i was there (if not i should have), however, i was being unfair, the vietnamese have inefficiency undoubtably mastered. Now in SE asia it always takes at least 4 people to accomplish any task. In most places this means 1 doing the work, 2 watching and 1 in charge, only in vietnam have they altered this time honored method (due to the necessity to maintain the appearance of communist equality) by dividing the same job into 4 parts and having making sure that all 4 people can participate. The result of this is that is takes a full hour to get from the start of passport control to the end. Let me explain the work flow process:Join queuereach front - person number one hands you formleave queue fill in formjoin queue (the same one)reach front hand in passport and formperson 2 checks photo page, passes to person 3person 3 checks visa page, passes to person 4person 4 enters detail into computer passes to person 2person 2 hands back passport to youcongrats you now have made it to customshand form and passport to person 5give bags to person 6retrieve stamped form from person 5 and bags from 6go to person 7recieve stickerand then to person 8 for final checkyou have now lost an hour of your life oh i forgot to mention person 0, the one who checks your passport before you get to passport control......Anyway, Saigon seems nice - have only been here a couple of hours, am staying at a guesthouse that consists of someones spare room, its quite nice actually, 4 floors up. My entrance was celebrated by a torrential downpour and rolling thunder, the sounds of the storm mingling with the ceaseless chorus of the motorbike horns. Dinner was noodle soup with minced pork tail kebabs on a half foot high plastic stool, down a side alley, the 2 foot width between my back and the opposite wall offering no obstical to the scooters buzzing past. OK thats about all 4 now, no photos sorry!
none of them received a standing ovation
Vientianne to Angkor
Okies, trousers have just fallen down in interent café…. Slightly humiliating…. (alright slight exaggeration I grant but still). Well where am I indeed? Cambodia – its been a week here (about, I lose track) and still not dead/mugged etc, so things looking good. Left Vientianne after about a day, a fairly uninspiring city, although to be fair I didn’t give it much of a chance. Caught an early morning local bus to Pakse in southern loas, a journey that reaches new and indescribable heights of discomfort – definitely one for the ‘Masochists Guide to Laos 2004’. Still suffering serious coccyx injuries from the trip south from Luang Prabang, spending 16 hours on another solid seat fastened (loosely) to broken suspension maybe was asking for trouble. Spirits where pretty low after 9 hours, but the first sunset we’ve seen in about a month (due to monsoon) came as good portent and lifted them. Reaching Pakse at 1 am checked into hostel, slept and left first thing in the morn – so much for pakse.Our target was a ruined Khmer city at Champansak. Piled into the back of a minivan bus, surrounded by locals and half a market full of fresh(ish) produce. Pineapples below, long beans in face and legs by chin we proceeded. Once at hostel we hired bikes and set off for the city….. You’d think I’d be pretty safe with a pushbike, no engine to break, no problem…. Nope. After about 11 km my tire exploded. After some communication with locals, ie me pointing at flat tire and looking generally unhappy, them grinning and pointing, I trudged back up the road to find a repair man. I walked… and walked… everytime I was sure I must have gone too far (was told 100m… hahaha, distance like time is a meaningless concept in loas) a helpful local pointed further up the road. Some old rubber, glue and an upside down iron restored my bike, off to the city!The ruined temple is a complex around a mile long and half a mile wide built at the foot of, and then in a series of terraces, up the side of, a mountain. Ancient stone steps, worn from a millennia of foot steps, led steeply between tangled over hanging trees to a Wat with a commanding view over the Mekong valley and its rice paddies. Not being too heavily polluted with tourists the place still had quite a mystical feel, at the time it was undoubtedly the best temples we had visited.The next day we caught a locals boat down the river from Champansak to Don Khong in Si Phan Don (4000 islands). The boat, a long teak affair, low tin roofed and carpeted with bamboo mats, serviced numerous small villages scattered along the rivers bank, bringing people and supplies. About 4 hours and several thunder storms later we arrived in a downpour. Slip sliding along, over laden with packs and unsteady in flip flops a lorry ride took us across the rural island through its farming communities to the main village, where we caught a further (smaller, less stable) boat to Don Det – a more remote and beautiful island. No breakdown with this boat, just a stop after about half an hour to bail it out as it was sinking…..Don Det, although fairly firmly established on the backpackers circuit isn’t too crowded, in fact there doesn’t seem to be many tourists there, although this is probably as it is the low season given the number of guest houses. After some fairly hectic weeks it was time to kick back and relax for a few days. We spent 4 days largely immobile in hammocks, surveying the Mekong, reading and being waited on by the family that run the place (Mama, the crazy hostess, possesses little English but many black toothed grins). The pace of life on the island is slow to non existent, some locals fish on the river banks, while others tend to the rice and water buffalo. Palm trees sprout amid the paddies and wooden stilt houses whilst time stands still, merely an observer.Onto Cambodia, through the unofficial official border. It used to be unofficial but you could use it providing you provide the unofficial officials with an offering. Now the border is official, but the previously unofficial officials got so used to growing fat on offerings that they now demand them unofficially even in their new official capacity. So in English 2$ (if you are lucky, ie twice the size of the intimidated official in question) per person each side bribe, and you’re through. 2 speed boat rides later, many dollars lighter and a minor case of tinnitus and you’re in Kratie. A small dusty town on the Mekong. Crumbling colonial buildings press up against a scrum of stilt houses webbed with low flying power cables. The home of the Mekong river dolphins, we took our very first (of many) moto rides along a 15km ‘road’ to the spot where they hang out. Taking a boat out, took about an hour to find them and grab some photos, although given the muddy state of the river we were unable to view them in their full glory….Once back from the dolphins, (it was a 6 o’clock start) had a couple of minutes to pick up our bags and board the boat to Kampon Chang, where we could get a connecting mini bus to Phnom Penh. Our last boat trip down the Mekong down which we have traveled many miles (Johannes’ official estimate being 800 km in total) felt a touch nostalgic. We sat on the roof and watched the villages drift past, the fisherman and kids playing, our view only being temporarily disrupted by a shower causing us to pull a large tarpaulin over us.The minibus ride down to the capital was anything but relaxing; a crushed and crazed dash on every side of the road, death never further than an inch away. For a few minutes the drivers were playing tag with another bus in a sequence disturbingly reminiscent of the film ‘Duel’ (you know the spielburg one with a car and the big truck). One of the locals tried to communicate in words and gestures what this was all about to me, which I translated as, they (the other bus) want us to pull over so they can rob us. Don’t think this was the case though as once we ‘got away’ the drivers played the same game with another van, so I guess it was some kind of Cambodian joke that foreigners don’t get.They say that human life is cheap in Cambodia and they were right, recklessness is the norm. Its quite refreshing in a way to have to take responsibility for your life every minute of the day, however the laws of statistics being what they are its probably not to great in the long run. Phnom Penh is the personification of this reckless abandon. Nowhere is this as chillingly portrayed as at S21 a school that was transformed into a school/interrogation centre in the days of the Khmer Rouge. In its abandoned classrooms, metal beds on which the victims were tortured, stand in rooms bare except for the photos on the walls depicting the harrowing scene that greeted those that ‘discovered’ this place. Other rooms are filled with mug shots of the detainees taken when they were admitted and paintings graphically recreate the more gruesome events, seen through the eyes of one of the few survivors – an artist.Phnom Penh is undoubtedly an exciting city, sitting on the back of a motorbike, carving your way through the streets confirms this. Just one block away from the immaculate riverside restaurants and silver roofed palace, streets are of dirt and dust, shanties hide in the shadow of concrete monoliths. This is a city of transition and flux.On our first night in town it was time sample its famous nightlife. The marathon evening began in the guesthouse where we joined up with a few others for a few G&Ts whilst the sunset over the lake our guest house sits on. At about 1am we ventured out, riding motos in convoy through the streets, will pulled up outside the infamous ‘Heart of Darkness’. The Lonely planet will lead you to believe this is the most ‘wild west’ club in all Phnom Penh and advises you to ‘get out of the way’ of anyone who looks mean (to avoid getting shot). In reality of course, the prospect of getting shot is something few travelers can resists, so you are in more danger of a stiletto heel through your foot on the dance floor than one in your gut. Not that I’m claiming this isn’t the den of iniquity its made out to be, being full of rich westerners and Khmer its replete with the SE Asian retinue of the rich – prostitutes and lots of them. Having every part of you squeezed and pinched 50% of the time is a little disconcerting, especially when 75% of the time its by a man.After Phnom Penh we head to the beach at Sihanoukville, which was a bit rubbish, so we left after one evening and traveled up to Kampot, from which we explore the Bokor hill station – a resort for the rich and famous, perched at 1000m that was abandoned in the early 60s. At the top of a 40km road that has largely been washed away (as has not been repaired in the early 60’s) this ghost town resides, swathed in the mists of clouds and time. Walking through its casino with its ballrooms and balconies you can imagine the scene of colonial decadence.I write now from Siem Reap, just outside the temples of Angkor Wat. We spent yesterday exploring from dawn til dusk just some of the hundreds of temples that lie in the jungle here. Its impossible to describe these monuments in anyway that will do them justice, but lets just say whilst exploring ‘jungle temple’ (slightly easier than the local pronounciation) its tumble down blocks and columns being slowly consumed by the forest I had the irresistible urge to whistle ‘da da-da daaaaaaa, da da daaaaaaa, da da-da daaaaaaa, da da-da da da’. Ok clearly my inspiration is starting to flag, so that’s gonna have to be all for now. Tomorrow we are heading back to Phnom Penh and onto Vietnam! PS Don’t worry Mum, its really not that dangerous – artist’s license you know!
The Mighty Mekong and other irre(l/v)e(v/r)ent stories
OK, take 2. One second power cut just destroyed my last attempt at this journal, only just restrained myself from throttling the cafe owner. Right, summoning zen calm for the second attempt....After a couple of days in Chang Mai learning how to cook pad thai, green curry and numerous other taste bud blasting thai dishes to headed north to the Loas border. A packed mini van ride took us through the flat rice paddies of thailand toward the towering mountains bordering the Mekong on a road that disintegrated gradually as Loas approaced. We spent a night at the border and rose early the next morning to tackle Loas. Breathing deeply the fresh air (a novelty after any trip to thailand) we passed under the 'gateway to indochina' and up to the banks of the Mekong. On the opposite bank, accross 300m of muddy mighty mekong, the Loas town of Huay Xai jutted haphazardly through the trees.Stepping on to one of the longtail canoes - an aquired art with a 50 poundback whilst wearing flip flops that transform any surface to ice when even within sight of water - settled back to enjoy the river we'd come to know so well in the next couple of days. Having journeyed all of around 3 meters toward Loas, the inevitable nigel engine curse struck again leaving us drifting and strandard. Eventually we got to other side, just a bid of mid river boat swapping involved.Huay Xai was fairly typically of Loas, everything in a quaintly delapedated state. Ramshakle wood and corregatediron structures pressing up against mould gathering colonial villas and shophouses. At the border I changed a coupld of thousand Thai Baht (30 quid) into Kip. Recieved for my troubles several one inch wads of 5000 Kip notes - about half a million. Felt deep sympathy for the poor chap next to me who changed 450 dollars into kip and had to hire a wheel barrow to remove his cash. There are only two routes out of Huay Xai, by 4x4 pickup or boat. We opted for the 2 day 'slow boat' to Luang Prabang as opposed to the semi suicidal fast boat (of death), wimping out of the 19 hour on the back of a pickup option.... How many humans can you fit into an oversized motor canoe? No, not the first line of the greatest joke in Loas, but the subject of several serious minded university couses here. Answer - always more. After an hour of suffering, crushed into our wooden bench seats (they were still packing the boat at this point), Jo(hannes) and I had the genius idea of grabbing the pew with a view, so bailed out of the window and climbed up onto the hot tin roof. All would have worked out wonderfully but for the intervention of an over zelous policeman, who wasn't so much concerned that we might die, more that if we are going to die we should do it in the proper way and place - ie suffercation/DVT down below. You gotta love communist bureaucracies. inevitably, once we got back below all seats were gone, so had to make do with a lovely spot in the engine room. Hmmmm only 7 hours to go, think zen think zen..... Really, engine rooms are ok - the ear splitting din isn't great and don't think about why they have put buddist offerings on the engine casing, but once they had bothered to attached the exhaust (hose)pipe and had the decency to point it out of the window its all fairly sellubrious... In actual fact after about 20 minutes one of the crew, who was sitting in the small kitchen behind the hundreds of backpacks piled at the back of the boat, invited us to join him. So dived over everyones luggage and had a great seat on the kitchen floor and could hang our legs off of its balcony.For the next 2 days we travelled slowing down the Mekong. The terrain became incresingly dramatic as we neared Luang Prabang, the mountains on each side of the river becoming loftier and craggier, shrowded perpetually in the low lying monsoon cloud. On each side of the river small villages on stilts are planted into the hill sides, surrounded by brown rice fields, which can grow on the steep sided slopes. In and between these small isolated settlements villagers row their long canoes and bamboo rafts, men fish by casting nets into the river and the children play, diving into the water from riverbank and tree.Luang Prabang is claimed by some (and i'm not arguing) to be the nicest town in SE asia. The oldest part of town nestles on a thin peninsular at the convergence of the Mekong and one of its tributories and consists of numerous temples squeezed between French colonial buildings. A great place just to relax, eat and read. The town also has an impressive night market, where the local villagers bring their handicrafts to sell. A continuous pile of hand woven silk hangings, paper lanterns, umbrellas and silverware fills the main street, illuminated by a thousand light bulbs. Although we spent 3 days there only spent one day out of the town - visiting a local cave full of 5000 buddha images, largely just enjoyed the town and the decent coffee.Vang Vieng a small (backpacker centric) town 7 hours backside murdering local bus ride south was next. The road wound up into the mountains, following ridge lines though hill top villages sitting in the cloud layer. Its along this road where rebels attacked public buses last year. Don't worry - still alive. The scenery around Vang Vieng is simply stunning. Lush green paddi terraces divided up by their dikes and water filled ditches stretch across the valley floors. This fertile scene houses rural villages and is walled in from the world by the sheer sided limestone karst formations that make up the dramatic backdrop. Jo and I hired bikes for the day and taking a canoe to the riverside that has no motorvehicles spent the day riding around the countryside. No one can deny the people of Loas are a friendly lot but can milk the tourist of their cash with the best of them. At a bridge crossing a ten foot wide stream some entreprenurial villages had set up base. Having tacked a sign to the bridge announcing that cyclists must pay 4000 kip to cross they conducted robinhood inspired daylight/highway robbery. We haggled them down to 2500 kip (everything is negotiable) and carried on. We were heading to one of the caves but the road became increasingly flooded as we proceeded. By the end I was wading pushing the bike, Jo struggled on the bike. Having come a km down an impassable road were stunned to find a fully manned ticket office at the end of it (ie a hut +man + wife) demanding another 5000 kip each to look at the cave. They really must have been inundated with tourists here (2 tickets had been told before ) but somehow this enterprise could support a total of 5 workers (work in the loosest sense, well the SE asian sense ie sitting in one place doing nothing for a protracted period of time).We left Vang Vieng yesterday and reached Vientianne. Just stopping here to get cambodian visas and will beheading south tommorow. Ok thats all folks...
