Finding Neverland

I’m in Laos, having finally wrenched myself out of Thailand – albeit temporarily.

All it took was one bone breaking journey on a local bus that was entirely unfamiliar with the concept of suspension across the border to Huay Xia and I’d arrived in Neverland. That is the only possible parallel I can draw to try and put Laos in context for you. You would not believe your eyes.

For two days as I sailed down the great Mekong River I felt like I was taking a magic carpet ride through the lush, fertile, jungle landscape; an infinite blanket of emerald green, enveloping mountain peak after breathtaking mountain peak, each giving rise to the next one after the other for as far as the eye can see. The Mekong has a glass like quality that reflects all that surround it, trapping me between perfect, mirrored worlds.

Life breaths from every nook, crook and cranny as we coast along, racing dragon flies as we go. We pass a few ‘beachside’ hill tribes, who I assume are Hmong, albino water buffalo and dozens of tiny longtail boats that look like toothpicks, floating amidst this vast scene, manned by young men and old, sporting those little pointed bamboo hats that you see in pictures of this part of the world. I don’t know the name of them, clearly.

We stop over at a couple of small border towns, drink some (illegal) herbal rice whiskey and dance in the street when it rains. It is worth saying here that we’re in Laos during the rainy season, so when it rains it really feels like the sky is falling. On account of the surrounding hillside the storms are thunderously threatening and it serves as a stark reminder of just how vulnerable we are to the elements when they turn on us. I can’t help wondering if when you’re so dependent and at the mercy of Mother Nature how this affects your perception of the Earth, this little planet we call home. If the local people are constantly reminded of how delicate the balance of life is, wouldn’t that affect their attitude towards how they work with their environment? I mean, they don’t recycle and they need to sort their emissions out, but they do seems to have a different relationship with Nature and I’m sure this influences the prevalence of Shamanism and Phi; a religion that believes everything has a spirit. – I feel like I’m not quite communicating my point here, so let me get back to you. Perhaps I’m trying to state the bleeding obvious.

Anyway, so here we are – we being, myself and the very beautiful David and Kippy; my state side travelling companions who I met in Chiang Mai. Already I am saying things like ‘pants’ instead of trousers and ‘that’s the bomb’ or ‘that’s so dope.’ In return they seems to be fast obtaining my thirst for afternoon tea and have adopted words like lovely, brilliant or wicked into their vocabulary. They’re not sure about loo though.

In Pac Bang, our half way stop over point, we wake up to candy floss covered mountains, as wispy clouds rise off up from the riverbank in the morning mist. I keep half expecting Peterpan or see a T-Rex stomp past to pop up, but so far nothing. Instead we feel inspired to do some yoga on the terrace, which is the perfect start to the day. Especially another day sat on a bench seat on a slow boat.

We finally arrive at our destination, Luang Prabang. Dubbed, amongst other things as ‘The Jewel of Asia, The Chiang Mai of Laos and the most romantic city you’ll ever visit.’ So expectations are high, but sadly quickly shattered.

Let’s get one thing straight, regardless of what the Lonely Planet might say, Luang Prabang is not, I repeat NOT any of the things described above. It’s not that I disliked Luang Prabang, but I didn’t much like it either. It seemed closed off to me. I didn’t feel welcome in this new place. The energy was off – and we all felt it – although we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. We were hustled into a hotel we weren’t that keen on, got felt up by the reception staff, were hounded by street kids and made the discovery that despite rave reviews, the coffee was weak and watery (if you could find somewhere that didn’t serve Nescafe 3in1) and the baguettes were floury pockets of air, occasionally inhabited by maggots, that the Parisians would not even wipe their nose with.

The trouble is, I’ve been spoilt in Thailand and Laos is a different kettle of (muddy Mekong) fish altogether. First, you only have to flip back a couple of pages in the history books to appreciate the past of this place and neighbouring Cambodia hasn’t exactly been rosy. Then, consider its now low season so there are fewer tourists. Finally, it’s important to remember that in Laos tourism is a fairly recent phenomenon and people are still adjusting to having their space invaded and learning how to respond to Westerners and all the cultural differences that dance hand in hand with getting to grips with very different modes of behavior and beliefs. Greater still, they are getting used to the canyon size divide that having money and not causes. I am left with no doubt, taking all these things into account, that the people here are trying to figure out where they fit into the grand scheme of things.

They see us, fat and cash rich, and feel deprived. One little girl who was selling straw braclets, with boardroom cool and a winning smile, insisted on us buying two one day and a third the next. When we declined, she pouted ‘You have many money. Me no have money. Why you no buy?’ She was 10. Pretty and smart. Her job was to sell said bracelets to tourists, everyday. Just to deviate a moment, that’s one thing I have swiftly noticed in Laos. There are no children. There are babies and there are adults. And the babies turn into adults at around 8 years old. This country is hardcore.

I can’t help but question if we really have a right to be here. Was this town happier before we invaded and there wasn’t a mass grapple to get as much cash out of us as possible? Have we bred greed in a country like this? I think it’s still the third most deprived country in the world, so of course cash coming in can only be a good thing, but we really need to reconsider if we’re going about it in the right way sometimes.

I think you’re average backpacker is probably responsible enough to make effort to seek genuine cultural interaction and support local business, but I do confess to being rather objectional about flashbackers, holiday makers and Gap year teens riding the party train passing through. From what I saw I can’t help but feel they are not being that mindful about the impact they’re having on cross-cultural relations and forgot tha they are ambassadors for the West, paving the way for things to come.

If we keep waving our cash about, waggling our figures and yelling in some poor street sellers face (yes, I witnessed this) and throwing up in the alms bowl at sunrise, you can only imagine how the local people are going to perceive us and the subsequent attitude that will grow as a result.

I cannot claim that I am really any better, and please don’t think that I consider myself on higher moral ground than anyone else, because I seriously don’t have this figured out. I’m just recounting what I observed and my general pondering on how to be a responsible tourist in a poverty stricken country. The issue is, you want to help, but giving every street kid you see spare change only encourages them to ask every white Westerner for money, which in turn with affect the attitudes of those visiting Westerners.

I need to give this some more thought. Before I move on from my musing however, I’d like to close this badly communicated argument by saying that in the villages, where tourism is not rife, people are more cheerful. They may have it harder, but they are content with what they have and what is and here they’re always happy to greet you with a wave and a smile. What is it that has tinged people’s perceptions of us in hubs where tourist traffic is high? I leave you guys to consider this point.

I caveat this entire experience by saying that Luang Prabang did in fact have some redeeming features. It does have a certain architectural charm, if you’re into that kind of thing and I often felt like I might actually be somewhere in the Caribbean due to the colonial French influence, rather than Asia. The dusty streets, and tumble down, candy coloured houses and dinky roadsiade cafes were more reminiscent of St Lucia than anywhere I have previously travelled in this continent.

The street food was also exceptional. A huge plate of fresh stir fried vegi’s and some BBQ chicken (I am no longer vegan. Very anti-Ahimsa, but sometimes you’re body just needs meat) for less than a couple of quid and you can’t go wrong. And I just so happened to take a little trip up to the most spectacular waterfall, where I swam in infinite pools of, albeit it slightly chilly, lapaz blue water that cooled the mind and warmed the heart, under dense jungle that felt absolutely eons old; their twisted trunks, trailing vines and enormous leaves testimony to their wisdom. I half expected Tarzan to come swinging through the branches, and almost wished he would, but one thing I have learned now about expectation is – have none!

Despite a few things that have left a bitter taste me my mouth there are some rare delights to be found if you get off the beaten track, like the local bar we found down on the bank of the Namka River where we sunk a couple of chilled Beer Lao and listened to a fusion of Asian break beats and old American funk. We rose early one morning to give alms to an endless stream of golden robed monks, as they gathered what was offered to share with their temple for the day. This I expected (there I go again – it’s a tough habit to break) to be a more spiritual experience in itself, but I didn’t get time to drink it all in as we were ushered into position, kneeling on the floor and swiftly had to get busy rolling balls of sticky rice to give to all those that passed by. It was too early for my sleep fogged brain to catch up with my body and process this alien activity.

It was a great way to leave Luang Prabang behind, with good memories rather than bad.
Right now, I am crammed into the back of another bus, designed for people half my size. Having just passed through yet more stunning scenery we’re headed for the Laos capital Vietiene. We decided to skip Vang Vieng, although reputed for its beauty it’s also famed for ‘Tubing’ and quite frankly my only opinion on that is – why would you want to? Sure you probably wouldn’t want to float down the Thames, beer in hand, but still it doesn’t scream genuine cultural experience to me.
So Vietiane it is, to sort out Thai visa’s so we can re-enter the land of smiles. (Chiang Mai, how I miss you).

The original plan was to go to Cambodia, but right now I don’t want to go to another city built up around tourism, even though Angkor would be amazing. The more I travel the more I learn that the real magic happens between destinations at unexpected times in unexpected places and I anjoy staying in one place a while, so you can find the little café’s, befriend the food market vendors and really get under the skin of wherever it is you are. Right now Chiang Mai is home to me. And every time I leave I can’t wait to go back.

*Please be aware this post was written on a bus at the end of a 10 hour journey, so if it seems a little directionless and dull, its because I was feeling a little directionless and dull, and may account for more spelling mistakes and ill constructed points than usual. Forgive me.