Freedom.

Sometimes you meet people who change you. Change the way you think about things, the way you see the world - in a literal sense at least.

Since I crossed the border from southern Laos into Cambodia a week ago I've been with a group of people who more-or-less shunned the day tours in favour of more travelling freedom in the form of motorbikes/ scooters.

In every town I've been to so far - Banlung, Kratie and Kampong Cham, I've been on the back of a motorbike exploring the surrounds a paid day-tour would not take me. Important to note though, I haven't been driving. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know how - and I have skin missing from my big toe to remind me. (Story below).

Since I left New Zealand at the end of April, by default (because it seemed more convenient and a good way to meet people and because of the reason above), I had always booked day tours around each place I'd been to. And they are, by all means (mostly) worth the money in terms of hitting all the major tourist attractions in one go and for meeting other travellers. Day trips though and even treks, are highly regimented with a set schedule of where to be, what to do and even when to eat. Renting a motorbike or scooter for the day (which is cheaper than a day trip and more fun) never crossed my mind.


For more intrepid and able travellers, the motorbike is the ultimate way to get around (except maybe in the larger cities where the traffic is heavy and hectic) and see parts of the country that not many other tourists may go - and where no minivans or buses could go either. There is a great sense of flexibility and adventure when you're on a motorbike - sure, you may not see all the things you would on a day trip, you may very well get lost, run out of petrol or injure yourself, but that doesn't matter. Its just more fun. 


The freedom to go and stop where you want, do what you want and see what life is really like for the locals is worth so much more than the $5 it costs to rent for the day. And from stories I've heard, even if you do damage to the bikes (which are mostly owned by locals so you're actually riding their bikes) doesn't cost that much. 

Six of us left Kampong Cham, Cambodia's third biggest city, on four motorbikes and planned to travel along both sides of the Mekong and taking a car ferry across the river. We left late morning (because we could) and took the road to Stung Trong and across on the the ferry. The road there was pretty good - a mix between sealed and dirt roads, but all sans potholes. The other side of the river was a different story. All dirt with massive holes in the middle of the road which resembled a dirt bike track rather than a main thoroughfare through several villages.

The places we passed through, including a few Muslim villages were full of smiling children greeting us in their cute and high-pitched voices ("Hello! Hello! Hello!") followed by a wave as we sped past. They weren't the only ones though - all the villagers, old, young, big, small, greeted us or acknowledged our us with a nod of the head (and helped us out when we thought we were lost). Some seemed truly bewildered to see a small motorcycle gang briefly interrupt their daily life.

But alas, I feel this may be the end of this brief fling with freedom. Our group is going its separate ways and, despite my best efforts, I do not think I'll be riding a motorbike or scooter anytime soon.

(I now have a bandage wrapped around my big toe after trying to ride a motorbike (sorry mum). It was nothing serious, but I lost control of it because I was heavy-handed with the accelerator and ended up driving into the kerb where the bike fell onto the ground. I was wearing jandals and scraped a few layers of skin off my big toe. The bike was unscratched.)

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There and back again.

This has nothing to do with The Hobbit. I just merely stole the title. 

This is about the sometimes (read mostly) unglamorous transport options and tours which get me to the beautiful places that I take photos of and subsequently write about.

In Laos, most of the overland transport is limited to buses, minivans, motorbikes, bicycles and boats (if you're lucky enough to be near a river). 


Most of the buses and minivans (except for the local transport) are actually quite nice - clean, with air con and big windows - but what gives the simple cross-country, 3-10 hour trip, that sense of dread are the roads. Not all are made equal in Laos. One moment the road is sealed, the next gravel, the next dirt with large potholes. Others wind their way high into the mountains and back down again.  


Case in point - the four hour minivan from the backpacker tubing haven of Vang Vieng to the Laos capital of Vientiane. Our four-wheeled chariot was in fine condition, though I had one of the unenviable chairs which fold out into the aisle. Everyone I spoke to who had done the trip already had complained that it was one of the worst rides they'd experienced. But most of them seemed like a bunch of complainers. I, however, like to put a positive spin on things (where possible). Most of the three or so hours seemed like some lame rollercoaster or carnival ride ("Just pretend like its a ride at Laos Disneyland," I thought to myself).
     
Quite possibly the most terrifying trip so far though was the 8 hour bus ride from Phonsavan (home of the plain of jars) to Vang Vieng. I decided, in all my infinite wisdom, to take a local bus which left at 4.30pm and was told would arrive about 11.30pm ("no problem because everything will still be open in Vang Vieng", I was told by the guy at my guesthouse). I could have/ possibly should have left on a tourist bus first thing the next morning and arrived about 3 or 4pm (hindsight is great). I guess I just wanted to get out of Phonsavan.

I got on the bus hoping to see at least one more traveller, but no luck. I was fortunate enough to experience this one on my own. The bus itself had seen better days (I suppose they save the good stuff for the tourists). The seats were a bit worn and colour faded. The seat backs were loose and the elastic at the back of the seat in front of you where you put your things had come apart. The air conditioning was barely working. It also seemed like it was oversold. At least three people were sitting in the aisle on plastic stools and fold out chairs. Luckily that wasn't me.

That wasn't what I was terrified about though. I think it was a combination of being the only foreigner on the bus, the prospect of arriving at my destination in the middle of the night (actually arrived about 12.30am), paranoia about missing my stop (I was the only one getting off at Vang Vieng) and also trying to stay awake until we arrived in Vang Vieng (I never actually knew what time we were meant to arrive so I tried to be alert the whole time).

Our two day slow boat from Thailand into Laos seems like luxury compared to the land transport. The first day anyway. As the crowded boat filled with tourists and some locals meandered along the Mekong River we wiled away the day sat in what were probably the back seats stripped from. Set up in rows like on a bus or plane, passengers dump their weary bodies into any seat they can get, only to find none of them are bolted to the wooden floor boards and their weight pushes the seat into the people behind them. During all of the first day the wind keeps weary travellers cool and refreshed, but on the second, we find ourselves sat behind the engine in a closed in room with two windows and about 10 degrees hotter than the rest of the boat. Not ideal for a 9 hour trip, but it builds character, right?

The best time though, was zipping around Phonsavan to the plain of jars on the back of a motorbike. I'd arrived there on my own and found few other travellers (its not really a big hit with tourists, it seems). A package tour of a couple of the sites and other attractions in the area would have cost far too much to do on my own (about 4-500,000 kip or $67-83NZD) or even if I found another person to go with (about 300,000 kip or $50NZD). I was contemplating scrapping it all together and leaving for Vang Vieng and was generally in a bad mood for having possibly made a mistake in going to Phonsavan in the first place. Until I visited the UXO (unexploded ordnance) Survivors Information Center. (Around the time of the Vietnam War, American forces dropped millions of bombs over Laos in what is known as the Secret War. It was thought the Viet Cong were using paths through Laos to get in and our of the country. Millions of those dropped bombs failed to explode and so now the country is littered with explosives which still kill about 100 people a year and injure many more.)

When all hope was lost of finding a tour, one of the volunteers at the centre, Kham, had offered to take me on a tour for less than half of the cheapest tour price I was quoted. The money too would go back to the centre. He would pick me up at 8am the next morning.

The people at my guesthouse, who had quoted me those initially high prices, were so passive aggressive and trying to dissuade me from going with Kham. Apparently, according to them we'd get pulled over by the police and possibly fined because he was not a recognised tour guide. The reason their tour was so expensive was because they needed to pay fees to be able to do the tours etc etc. It worked for a little bit - sowed the seed of doubt - but everything turned out fine. People make their own way to the jar sites all the time with no problems.

Arriving on his red motorbike which he had had for about 10 years ("Its a bit slow, but the first bike I've owned."), Kham, a university student in his second year of an economics degree, tells me mystery surrounds the large carved stone jars which are about 2500 years old. Some say they were used to hold whisky and food, others think they were used as family urns and the sites are a cemetery.

We also go to the old town which was bombed by the Americans and forcing most of the town to flee to other parts of Laos. We pass an old French hospital destroyed by American bombs and what were essentially a vault for the towns valuables - gold, silver etc - called Stupa which were first raided and razed by the Thai people then further damaged by American bombs.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this anymore, but I guess the moral of the story is things will always work out in the end and don't complain about long haul transportation?


I'll let you decide.          

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Forty-eight hours in Vang Vieng

Curiosity got the better of me when I booked a ticket to Vang Vieng.

I'd heard plenty of stories about the place about three hours north of the Laos capital Vientiane - a place of excessive drug taking and drinking; bar hopping while floating along a river in an inflatable tube. Stories about people dying or getting seriously injured.

I told myself I'd stay away. It wouldn't be my scene, I thought to myself.

I was right.

Getting on the local bus, I was hoping to find other travellers to talk with or at least be with when we were scheduled to arrive  in Vang Vieng about 12.30am. I was out of luck. The bus, as the name suggests, was full of locals and none, it turned out were getting off at Vang Vieng. Though I didn't see why any of them would. The town, in recent years anyway, has been overrun by westerners seeking the seemingly simple thrill of floating down the river while drunk.

Every seat in the bus was more than full (folding chairs and stools were placed in the aisle for a few extra seats, but more on this in another post) and from what I gathered, everyone was heading to Vientiane. When I told the young woman sitting next to me I was heading to Vang Vieng her face was a mix of surprise and shock as if to say "why on earth would you want to go there?"  

What I found in Vang Vieng was a lesson in youthful excess which made me feel much older than my 23 years. (I'm really an old man at heart.)

In the morning and into the early afternoon people sat in restaurants with low wooden platforms and small tables and pillows which were playing either back-to-back episodes of Friends or Family Guy. Many, I imagine, were nursing cuts, bruises and hangovers while drinking fruit shakes and eating food.

It seems to be a town which can keep people in its grip and keep them in a vicious cycle of tubing during the day, drinking at night, nursing the hangover then doing it all again.

One of the girls we met had been in town for three weeks. She was working for one of the local bars which ply free buckets of alcohol and mixers to travellers by directing foot traffic to it. She was paid in alcohol and food and took care of her own accommodation.

There is more to do in this town though and you don't have to look far. Kayaking, rock climbing, trekking. I set my sights on a kayaking, tubing and caving day trip which inadvertently gave me a feel for what the drunk tubing experience would be like. Albeit at different times of the day. The tubing was 350 metres through a cave. Headlamps lighting the way, we entered the cave through a small gap between water and cave roof and we pulled ourselves along a rope to as far as we could go. I felt like an undercover agent on a mission to blow something up. Doing this was more dangerous during the rainy season, our guide Mr Sing told us. Mostly because of flash floods which could increase the river levels at a moments notice.      

During the kayaking leg, we stopped at one of the riverside bars which tubers can stop at. One of the workers throws a full water bottle tied to a rope to pull in those wanting to take a break from the river. We, however, pull up on the side of the bank and climb up the stairs. The bar has a good crowd of people and also a trapeze swing over the river for patrons to jump in. One of the staff, an older, balding Laos man, pulled the swing in  using a rope while another threw a semi-inflated rubber ring to pull in each jumper.

The bars themselves, about 6 in total, are semi-permanent structures made of wood and built along the banks of the river. Each has a different vibe or thing to do. The bar we stopped at had a beer pong table, a basketball hoop and was covered in different coloured spraypaint. Another bar we kayaked past looks closed, but had a giant metal water slide which would launch the person into the river.

For some this will be the last high they will ever experience. Estimates on the casualty rate each year from tubing varies, but travellers do die or are seriously injured while tubing.

During the rainy season the river levels are high enough that revellers can jump and dive without hitting the rocks below the surface. But this day I still saw rocks and debris rise up above the water and act as a reminder of what is lurking under the river's murky, fast flowing, surface. The problem comes during the dry season when river levels are lower. That and the combination of a sense of drunken invincibility and sometimes an overestimation of swimming ability (A drunk tuber had told a friend he did not know how to swim).

Perhaps this pessimistic view comes from my own realistic estimation of swimming abilities and a healthy respect for any natural body of water.

Despite all this though, I can see the appeal for some people and the reason so many young (though not exclusively) travellers make the pilgrimage to Vang Vieng. If I were a few years younger and was in the right state of mind I'd probably give it a shot and have a great time, too.

Such are the perils of being an old man at heart.

  

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The first step

Yesterday marked a small milestone in a larger goal to become a travel writer. Its probably a goal that many writers/ journalists want to achieve - to be paid to travel. Either that or being a war correspondent. Neither of which I imagine are easily achievable, especially in the formative years of a journalism career.

Anyway, if you haven't seen it already, here's a link to the travel piece I wrote about Sa Pa, northern Vietnam. Its more or less the same as the one that was in the Marlborough Express a few weeks ago.

http://www.thephuketnews.com/in-search-of-serenity-31719.php

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A lesson in compromise

Travelling alone is great. Unburdened by compromise; the master of your own destiny. Go wherever you want, whenever you want.

Travelling with others requires a different mindset. What do they want to do? What can I give up doing? What is the general consensus within the group? The benefits of travelling with others as opposed to going lone wolf are obvious. Camaraderie, conversation, cheaper prices.

There are two main subsets of groups travelling together, which can be further subcategorised in terms of the dynamics of the group (which I don't want get into right now). The first are groups of friends travelling together for their entire trip. The other are "lone wolf" travellers coming together to travel for an indeterminate period of time - mostly for convenience and the reasons mentioned above. Most of the time I am the latter.

An unwritten, unspoken agreement seems to exist among solo travellers that you will travel together until it no longer becomes either financially viable or if your plans change. Or, *gasp*, if you get sick of the people you're travelling with.

I've been travelling with a girl I'd met at a hostel in Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand, who had vague plans to travel to Laos just as I did. I seemed to have a more solid plan - go a bit further north to Chiang Rai then spend two days cruising down the Mekong River from Thailand to Luang Prabang, Laos. At this time I'd decided to leave two English girls I had been with because they wanted to go to Laos and I wanted to head to Chiang Rai first, but that's another story. She had asked if she could come with me to Chiang Rai seeing as she was just kicking about Chiang Mai not doing much. I agreed and we've been with each other ever since (about a week now). Everything was going fine - both of us seemed to have a similar mindset when it came to travelling - accommodation-wise anyway (cheapish places which mean more money can be spent on other things. All you need is a bed to sleep in and wifi). Then we met another girl on the second day of the slow boat trip. She was taking the long way back to Scotland after spending 18 months living in Australia.

The three of us then entered this unspoken, unwritten agreement that we would be together until it was no longer practical. (She has since gone south to Vang Vieng whereas we are heading north into the jungle). Things were going grand until we hit dry land again. Where to stay?

Suddenly we needed a place with three beds, but we each had different criteria and ways of finding it. Normally the way I travel, especially when arriving late afternoon or evening, is to pretty much find the first place with a decent rate to spend the night and sort myself out for the next day. What to do and whether to move on to another place etc. Either that or book a few nights in advance online then figure out a plan from there. Our Scottish friend was using an app to find cheap hotels to stay in and paying that little bit extra for a fancier place. For me that money would be better spent on food or for tours or souvenirs.

After wandering around Luang Prabang (which thankfully is not that big) in the early evening with all or luggage we finally settled on a place - three beds, a big room, a cheap price between three. A little bit run down, but bearable. That was not the last I heard about how we could probably get a good hotel for a few dollars more.

This probably wasn't the first time I'd realised other people travel in different ways and have different criteria for what they want to get out of travelling etc. But it was an example that made me want to write about it (obviously).

It also got me thinking about what kind of person I'm like to travel with. Of course I'll never know, but I'd like to think I'm not too bad.

The main factor for me in anything is price. If its out of my price range or if I think it costs more than it should I'll say so. I'd also be more likely skip it or find an alternative or - if I really want to do it then I'll try save money in other places (food etc).

I get a bit irritable when I'm tired and/ or hungry and sometimes have to fight the urge to snap at people. When in a group I tend to be a contributor rather than the leader in a conversation or in decision making. But I'm more likely to go with what others want to do to save time, frustration and to make the decision making process quicker.

I sound like a great travelling partner, right? 

Though, to be fair, I've been lucky enough to have been with people who more or less want to do the same things as I do.

Or are they just compromising with me?    

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Of Animals and Trekking

Lunchtime: A baby elephant feeds on vegetation in northern Thailand

     

The sound of a bell in the middle of the northern Thailand jungle stopped me in my tracks. Above me on a hill to my left, a cherub-faced Asian elephant stood grazing on overgrown vegetation. Its probably the closest I'll come to seeing an elephant in the wild - this one that we've seen at the start of our two-day trek belongs to an elephant camp nearby. Elephant trainers, or mahouts, teach them commands which years ago would have been used to put the elephants to work in the jungle (possibly still the case) though more likely now for trekking with travellers.

The trek takes us 12 kilometres, mostly uphill, through jungle, over streams and through sticky rice fields (not that the rice fields themselves are sticky - its the kind of rice they grow) to Lahu Village where we spend the night on a mountain by candle light and mosquito net. It was different to my Sa Pa experience in northern Vietnam. Firstly, it rained almost all of the first day leaving the 12 of us and our guide Eddy soaked right through. Even my change of clothes which were in my backpack is slightly wet. The jungle setting also means mosquitoes. Lots of mosquitoes.

I'm growing quite fond of trekking. Something about getting away from the city, seeing and feeling more of the countryside, a better appreciation of the simple dinner at the end and feeling like you've earned it.

The start of the trek (a package deal), however, was a case of having to endure before getting to the good stuff. I don't think we hit the track until after midday (we were picked up about 9.30). The first stop was an Orchid farm - nice enough, but flowers don't tend to get me too excited. The next two, a snake farm/ show and a long neck village, seem depressing and exploitative. The snake trainers knew what they were doing, but seemed to show little respect for the reptiles. One put the head of a snake in his mouth and the other trainers seeming flippant and were unnecessarily aggravating the snakes. It was not a place I would have gone to of my own free will.

The village seemed like it was set up for tourists with the women, who lengthen their necks and legs using gold bangles, selling woven knick-knacks like a sideshow attraction. I felt bad even having my camera out. It may have been better if, as travellers, we had one of the women explain why they do what they do instead of being dropped off and being told we had 20 minutes to walk around.

Woah, this is getting negative. And long. Let's move on.


One of the better experiences in Chiang Mai was ziplining through the jungle with Gibbons. Surprisingly, or maybe not so, the company (Flight of the Gibbons) was set up by a Kiwi company. And it kind of showed - the whole trip from pick-up to drop off seemed like a pretty slick operation. Our guides, Mr Cash and Mr Good, were a pair of jokers trying to mess with our group at each platform - holding us back when we were ready to fly through the jungle canopy, pretending they'd forgotten something - but there was still an inherent level of trust in them. Mr Cash had been with the company since a few months after it opened about five years ago. Before that he'd worked at a hotel and applied for the job when he saw a listing in the paper. 


After a good 2 and a half hours of flying through the trees (which also included a sighting of a Gibbon family - mum, dad and son) we were dropped off at a nearby waterfall and then a hearty lunch before being taken back to our respective hostels. The trip also came with a free ticket to the zoo and a bandana. Score.


The Chiang Mai zoo itself was big - big enough to warrant a monorail and an open-sided tour bus - I won't go into much detail because you've been to a zoo before. But I didn't imagine the first time I'd see a koala would be in Thailand.


Right, this is getting too long and uninteresting for my liking so I'm calling it quits on this post. 


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Travelling pays (an update)

Apologies to some (you know who you are) for the no blog entries lately. But after my trip to Sa Pa in northern Vietnam I felt compelled to write something for my old paper back home. My first paid gig as a travel writer (Hoorah). There's also another paper which will be running the piece (which I'm not being paid for). I didn't want to publish it here before it got printed because there's some kind of etiquette around that, I guess. Maybe its just politeness and courtesy.

I also didn't want to write a completely different piece about Sa Pa, because well, I'm a little lazy like that. And I haven't done anything worth blogging about.

Here's a link to the story and to the photos.

Since Sa Pa, the friend I was travelling with went back to NZ and I spent a week in Hanoi not doing much. I had a flight out on June 11, he left on June 2. Half of that time was pretty frustrating because felt like I was in limbo, just waiting to move onto the next place. A problem with haphazard booking of things.

I re-met some people from our first night in Hanoi and also another who I mentioned in a previous blog post who we'd met all the way up Vietnam.

I'm now in Chiang Mai after a domestic flight (Hanoi to Siagon), an international flight (Saigon to Bangkok), three train changes to get to station where I caught a 17-hour train trip to Chiang Mai.

Short and sweet and keeps people off my back for a while. Ha.

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