Dear All,

I have been in a part of the world famous for its Indian cuisine and I haven't had a curry in aaaaages. Malaysia passed me by, a mad whirl of roti canai, banana pancakes, variations on a fried-noodle-rice-vegetables-theme. Laos is less of a mad whirl - partly because the pace of life here is so slow not ever the soup could get itself that worked up, and partly because the local speciality, if it can be so termed, is 'sticky rice'. A far cry from fluffy basmati goodness, this sticks together in clumps - great for transporting to plate to gob via chopsticks, less good for being urm, 'transported' through one's gut. Anyway, I digress. In the midst of this culinary farmyard I have been hankering, nay, even yearning for a quick biriyani, even a korma, and a good naan. Seeing as there are indian takeaways in every collection of shacks the bus chucks me out at, and that Berelao, a strong lager served by the 600ml, was made for washing down such delights, I have no idea why it has taken me weeks to have a curry. Things have always occured - night markets serving up whole barbequed pigs heads, restaurants showing Friends (what?), fruit shakes made will a gallon of coconut milk and that carnation stuff out of tins.

But tonight, tonight (won't be just any night...), tonight I have an arrangement to meet Krishna, Gerda and Molly for curry!!! I am so, so excited, I have all ready been to the place and selected what I'm having. Bring on the naan.

Apologies for that random outburst, readers, I assure you that I will now return to the main business of the past few days in the picture-skew Luang Prabang, a sort of Asian version of Blois, perhaps. Prepare yourself for a strong wildlife motif, as highlights include a dead tiger called Phat and a pregnant elephant called Tam Tam. Suspense is vital, however, dear fans, so you will first hear about wot-I-did-after-writing-my-last-blog.

I tried to visit the Royal Palace Museum, but it appears to be open for about two hours twice a day, a very tricky window to try and manouvere oneself into, when one has no other commitments on any given day. In spite of the freedom permited by my schedule, I still managed to miss both opening times and contented myself with whiling away a pleseant hour perambulating the manicured grounds, and appreciating the gaudy beauty of the neighbouring wats. Lao - a language made for punning. It transpired that I wasn't actually meant to be there when the museum was closed, and as such, I had been shut in the grounds. Eventually a Lao woman came and told me it was shut and escorted me off the premisis - I feel slightly ashamed, and as such, have saved myself the 20,000 kip, and not shown my face there again. I should perhaps persevere in the nom de culture, Hila tells me I'm not missing out on a great deal...

...she missed out, however, in not having a massage. Luang Prabang - a slightly odd mix of temples, French colonial architechture, stunning scenery, cooking classes and - a tradition of aromatherapy. Well worth 'fwour-dollah-one-hour-cheap-cheap' back massages, mind.

On hitting the night market, averting my eyes round the intestines and getting an eyeful of goodness know's what else, I stumbled upon Krishna, Gerda (Girdly? Goerda? Gauda?!) and Shan, buddies from Vang Vieng who had delayed their departure by a day. We tried to find the ballet, but apparently that's been closed for two months, we're in low season... (Not having much luck, eh folks...)

A new day, and we hit the waterfall. 45 minutes by tuk-tuk to a forested park, full of turquoise pools fed by trickling water - some 'swimming areas' some 'do not swimming areas' - signs which rank on a par with 'vegetable no name' which haunts Malay menus. Also in the park is a small animal sanctuary, caring for the victims of the illegal wildlife trade. Not being so well aquainted with bears as some of my better-travelled cousins maybe, I was slightly shocked at the appearance of the mangy, non cuddly, half monkey half dog black things that presented themselves, captioned as Asian Bears. Even if they didn't have claws, I wouldn't welcome one into my bed in place of ever faithful Pink Ted - he may be mangy with age but they're still not a patch on him...

Close by, a tiger enclosure. Well, to go with the closed museum and the non existent ballet, the tiger died six days ago. So it was just the tiger enclosure. This is of course very, very sad, and I am in no way making light of Phat, a tiger rescued from illegal trade, ruining the curtains on 20 May 2008, but the word 'typical' did flicker across my mind, for but an instant....

The main waterfall, however, was beautiful, and we braved freezing cold water and leeches to swim in the beautiful pools. I only heard about the leeches on our return to Luang Prabang, or else you would have needed the tiger to get me into the water...

Having spent the last month seemingly collection elephant themed accessories - earrings, necklace, bag, etc... I today realised a long held, girlish dream, that I have quite fancied for at least a fortnight, when I bought the Lonely Planet. Today, I went heffalump trekking with Hila, on a lovely, lovely, elephant called Tam Tam, some three months pregnant. Poor girl - she has over a year's gestation left. No thank youuu.

Pottering along atop an elephant, through jungle, along a river, warm sun on my limbs and breathtaking views around me was certainly a highlight. Seeing as I'd rather go ten rounds with Phat the Tiger than come into too close a proximity with a horse, I was mildly surprised by my own calm disposition on hugging my heffalump. I rather suspect I feel something more of an affinity with this animal - horses have grace, power, beauty - elephants don't. Coming into contact with the magnificent beasts will certainly have me using phrases connected to the grace of a sugarplum elephant somewhat more frequently. They're really quite something, if not quite as big as I'd expectected - are Indian elephants smaller than African specimans? That said - Hila, in charmingly Isreali English (to go with Charlie and the Chocolate Kingdom), did comment - "You know we are not that small, and I am sitting on an elephant, and I feel - quite small". She has a point.

Tonight is my fourth night in Luang Prabang and my eighth in the beautiful Laos. Sadly I cannot hang around till my visa expires on 18 June, so tomorrow I leave bright and early for Phonsavan to visit the Plain of Jars. Apparently, it's a seven hour bus journey, starting at eight thirty in the morning, but I'll let you know how that goes...

...with Love to All, as ever.

Pxx