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Like the table coverings you find in a greasy spoon cafe, the plastic coated, non-reclining seats were the most discreet feature of our bus for the long trip over to Sam Neua. The driver allowed people to pile in until four ladies were seated in the aisle on small plastic stools, between sacks of rice. Laos music played for the whole trip, and it was basically a sit back and endure event, as the bus crawled up and around the mountainous ridges. After a couple of bush-toilet stops we reached Nam Noen for a spot of lunch.
The local ladies were out in force celebrating at a community centre next to the temple below the road. This was in honour of the public holiday - National Women's Day, where in theory, women do not have to work, although it appears that the men cannot be relied upon to keep things running on their own…It was nice to see the traditionally dressed village women out dancing and drinking beer together! Several more sweaty and uncomfortable hours later, we reached our destination and were relieved to be walking again.
The bus station at Sam Neua was about 1 km out of town on top of a steep hill. We had arrived just before sunset and the sky was tainted with angry orange tones against a sky which was blackening like an old bruise. We shared a truck down with a French couple, and three other backpackers, unsure of which side of the town the accommodation was on, and quickly noticed this was a small place with limited options. After several refusals (most places were either full or were overpriced), we managed to secure a room in what must have been the last guesthouse one street back from the river. Tired and hungry we ventured out to find somewhere to eat. Most shops and businesses were closed or closing along with the market, limiting our options further, and it was only 6pm. What is this place on the fringe of the tourist trail?
We circumvented the block around our hotel settling on the only small and local place we found open where the same French couple from the bus were already sat drinking beer. We joined Fanny and Florian's table, ordering beers of our own and shared travel stories over dinner before turning in for the night.
We woke around 9am to a chilly room and a dark grey sky outside the window, where we could see a huddle of Tuk-tuk drivers squatting around a small fire in the car park below. Unsure as to whether it was just the tinted glass, or the day was really painted gun-metal gray, Lana headed downstairs, for cold 'n' flu remedies. Adam had woken up with a bad cold that had been on the horizon since the previous day. Lana returned flabbergasted that it was actually raining and it was really cold!!! This was the first time we had drab, damp English style weather since Nepal. Adam stayed tucked up in bed, as Lana having climbed the walls in boredom, wrapped herself in a wool hat and waterproof jacket and ventured outside determined to see some of the 'sights'.
Sam Neua is far from touristy and for that alone it was great. It's a genuine Laos town, with stable, well integrated influences from its Vietnamese and Chinese neighbours. Lana's little walking tour didn't reveal anything exciting, but as she sought out the couple of monuments she was greeted with Sabai-dee 'hellos' from smiling school children, in their smart white shirt dark blue trousers or typically Lao skirts with their embroidered white and red bands around the hem.
The drizzle continued all day and the freezing temperatures made it generally pretty unpleasant to be outside. Lana returned with some photographs of two of the local monuments, which were locked away behind fences only accessible to the key holder and a skinny three-legged cat. The most notable however was a modern sculpture in the centre of the main intersection on the way into the town, outside of what appeared to be a government administration building with a frieze along the outside of its white wall depicting military personnel in defending and victorious postures. The Laos national flag, and the Communist yellow on red flags were flying high outside, adding much warranted colour to the monotone bleak afternoon. The tuk-tuk drivers remained at their kerbside fire all day. The town is quiet and small and it would seem not many people have anywhere they need or want to get to.
We committed ourselves, despite the lingering cold grey weather, to hire a motorbike and head for the hills. Vieng Xai and a large concentration of caves which exist in the extensive rocky karst landscape, which were inhabited during the war and out of which the 'Laos Peoples Revolutionary Party', all members of the commission, including leader Kaysome Phomvihane, were stationed and governed the militia for 9 years. They have opened many of these to the public for tours now and is well worth the ride out on our red and chrome, flash looking excuse for a motorbike. Heading out of town we were coaxed along a diversion across a ditch and over a potholed, sandy driveway of a local farm machinery repair yard. We slugged painfully up even slight inclines - unable to outrun a chicken on this beast - but were loving the misty scenery over emerald green fields of rice and palms sprouting out above other temperate species of trees, through sweeping valleys interrupted by natural karsts all covered in greenery.
We reached the town of Vieng Xai which wasn't particularly remarkable in size nor stature but surrounded by beautiful rock faces and hills concealing any number of 'secret' caves and tunnels through the landscape. We meandered about trying to get our bearings, selecting the wrong direction from the central market place. Finally we found the visitor centre but it was closed. Not wanting to stand around in the cold and threatening rain we headed out on our own following some toy-town sized directional signs hidden between the hedgerows. We pulled up at a dead end and followed a trail blind.
We walked up a steep hill amongst jungle, suddenly realising (breathless and sweating) that this couldn't be the right way as the guides would not take people up such dodgy terrain. We backtracked and continued further away from the road, passing three ladies with large baskets strapped to their backs, who appeared to be collecting twine from creepers and other leaves. We watched with little surprise as one of the post-middle aged ladies diverted from the track and, with agility that would put Spiderman to shame, scaled to the top of a ridge of cliff to investigate a clump of deep green leaves which had captured their attention on passing. We smiled and they knew what we were looking for naming the cave and directing us on further into the valley where the grasses grew to our shoulders, and obscured the trail. We walked on into a beautiful view across the valley which was surrounded by rocks and hills, and underneath a natural rock formed doorway we found the entrance to the cave. It looped around in a big horseshoe, with plenty of room to stand and a levelled gravel floor. The broad curved opening on the other side made us feel we were in a secret place. Vines hanging from their choking hold on the trees above us, implanted into the edifices of the cliffs.
We headed back to the Red Slug and rode about 100m back along the road, pulling over for the Administration Council Cave, in the grounds of Kaysome Phomvihane's summer estate home. The simple grounds beyond a spiky hedge bore sporadic clusters of fir trees, amongst spaced out deciduous varieties, with flower beds bearing tall white and red flowers and musket red border plants; symbolic of the bloodshed. The grass was dry and bare in places but not unkempt. The house looked like dormitory accommodation you may find waiting for you on a school trip, but it was large and would have been the epitome of grandeur in it's time.
We continued up behind and into the cave hideout which disappeared into the towering cliff behind. Inside were several 'rooms' where we learned that Lao's Revolutionary party commissioned the defence of their country. There was a large rectangular space utilised as the central meeting room. A long table and chairs was set with photographs of the key members of the council who held their meetings and authorised the deliverance of military strategies from this very spot. We saw the bedrooms, toilet and the secure 'emergency' room which was reinforced with a 15" thick metal door, like the kind you find on a submarine or a bank vault, for when air raids came worryingly close.
Back on the road we ventured on to find more but were sent back by a guide who advised us we were not able to see the caves without the accompaniment of a guide from the office. We rode back in that direction, but decided we would stop for a beer at a small shop-stand next door. A group of people were eating and drinking outside, whilst half watching a game of Petonque,. We asked for a couple of beers as we tore off our wet weather layers and helmets, and whether they would mind if we joined them. We sat down and made conversation with a guy who spoke some English.
It was their 'new year' work get together, the guy we spoke to worked in the land surveying and planning department for Planning and Infrastructure. We were offered what looked innocently like boiled eggs to eat, quickly realising we had been spared the experience of the 1000 year old eggs, and offered a delicacy in equal proportions. Chicken foetus replaced the familiar yellow yoke, and a portion of the white was hard as bone…Lana, true to form in her ability to eat anything one labels as 'food' peeled her egg, disguised her distaste well when the bloodied little rudimentary chick formation was exposed to the world. Politely taking the spoon that our new friend held out Lana averted her eyes and tucked in to the cold, gooey off-meat tasting flesh. 'Chew and swallow' said the neurones firing from brain to gag reflex to stomach...
We were soon involved in the drinking ritual - where two young ladies kept opening bottles of beer filling tumbler glasses and passing them clockwise around the table to be downed in one. Soon we were tipsy and Lana agreed to play a match of boules. As the afternoon wore on we were starting to feel the beer in our veins and decided it was time to go before dark. A little way up the road the bike conked out next to a cute hobby farm-looking property, where an elderly man ushered a variety of roaming chickens back into the yard away from the road as he watched us in our several attempts to bump the bike back into life, and make our freezing dumb-and-dumber style journey back to Sam Neua.
Finally back to the guesthouse, cold and more sober, we entered discussions with the hotel owner who was stood with Fanny and Flo attempting to understand a situation. It panned out that the hotel owners had already booked out most of the rooms for attendees at a big council-type meeting scheduled for the following day, and Flo and Fanny were being evicted. We offered to share our room as we had two single beds. It would be a cosy night with valium and Pineapple Express for entertainment, but the cold somehow made it alright.
The sun graced us with its presence as we headed up to the bus station in the morning on foot. We passed several men in shirt, tie and suits as we left our guesthouse, and also on the road passing on foot from some of the houses and passing us on the hill in flash looking cars. Armed with a couple of cartons of soy milk for breakfast, we boarded the bus, heading for the idyllic village of Nong Khiaw, another 8 hours west along the river.
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