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I finally left Veng vieng, as much as the beauty and energy of the place sucked me in to oblivion, not wanting to leave its bamboo huts, shacks and shops. It's rolling, imposing, green mountains with glistening rivers running effortlessly through, I realised, there is so much more I need to see and learn about this part of Asia. I booked my mini bus and made the winding trip to the northern city of Luang Prabang. I always enjoy my bus rides. Taking pleasure in experiencing and witnessing cultures you can't even begin to imagine existing until you see it, roads that shouldn't be driven on yet taken at blistering speeds. At one point we climbed and climbed up a mountain, overtaking lorries and cars around corners, dodging fallen rocks and trees, the exciting danger, increasing the pulse and adrenaline is why we travel, is why we exert ourselves in these places and get away from the boring, steady life of west with imposing rules, shackling you to falling in line with the rest of the herd. We continued on, crammed into a mini van, trying as we might to close our eyes to sleep to ensure the journey passes quicker, I for one try to fight it, but the warmth and rocky nature of the van makes you feel like a baby in a pram. At one point we passed a line of wooden shops, all selling huge quantities of pineapples, the rain was hammering down as if it was its final wash. There was one thing similar to the sellers, all of them were tanned, old women. I saw the same thing when I travelled around China and continued to see this trend in Thailand. The only ones willing to dress up, humiliating themselves in colourful tack, selling wooden frogs, wristbands and whistles for a price not even enough for a meal are old women. Which makes you wonder, why? My theory is the reliance of their husbands in this part of the world. Most women's status is to provide, to look after and housewife their husbands and families. They are pressured endlessly to marry and begin a family by their parents and grandparents. If a Chinese women (I imagine its similar here) is not married by the time they are 26, they are considered an outcast by society and their family, they are instantly looked down upon and judged by friends who have achieved their families desire. Because of this, many women who grew up and had their child bearing years in the 50s - 80s would generally stay at home, cook clean, wash and raise the children, whilst the man would leave to go to work and expect to come home to his dinner on the table. The man is the main bread winner and therefore if the man were to die before the woman she is left with nothing, years of painstaking labour in the household over, yet this is all she knows, the weight of expectation dissolved and income disappeared, hence the need to go out, spend all day in the sun and sell tourist tack for hours.
The pineapple shacks continued for about a mile, with the laos bus driver pulling over to purchase his snack. After 4 hours of driving we entered the town of Luang Prabang. A beautiful, French colonial peninsula, credited as a UNESCO world heritage sight. Like most of these towns I've been to, it has a main strip in which most of the tourists are located. This one contained countless travel shops, massage parlours, souvenir shops, bars and cafes all encased in stunning white washed walls, brown tiled roofs with the inside decorated in polished wood. In the centre of town there was a large golden and white temple for practising monks. It wasn't uncommon to see monks of all ages walking round the streets dressed in a flowing orange gown. They can be of all ages and is a right of passage for some Laos people. For two years they study and pray the Buddhist religion, learning languages, history and philosophy. This is one of the most chilling yet unbelievable facts about travelling. Wherever I have been I have met so many non English people of all ages speaking English to a level where they could comfortably live in an English speaking country. Whether they be French, German, Dutch, Scandinavian, Chilean, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Malaysian, African, Mexican, Brazilian, Danish, Russian, it doesn't matter, you can communicate with them with ease. Yet they do not complain or fret, they are happy to talk to you in your language without holding a grudge. They are not forced to learn English but highly encouraged. Their songs, adverts and movies are all in our language. The fact is, they have to learn English if they want to travel or leave their own country. Every country caters for English which develops into the sad fact that we are not pressured at all to learn another language. Why should we when everyone else speaks our own? But we should. Being English we are born with a golden ticket and we shouldn't take it for granted, why should we let other people do what we can't?. I fell into the suit that 99% of English people do, in not learning a second language, until I moved to china and realised how important it is to do so and am now inspired by the people I've met to try and learn more. It's a great feeling when you speak to people to their language, they appreciate your company so much more and you can connect with them in ways previously not possible.
I didn't spend much time in Luang Prabang as I wanted to head to Thailand as soon as possible. I spent most of my time wandering the streets, taking in the scenery of the two rivers that flank the city and reading my book which opened up my eyes to the terrors of life in North Korea, but I'll leave that for another time.
I booked my 20 hour bus ride to Chiang Mai (Thailand), was picked up in a Tuk Tuk and climbed into the back next to other foreign tourists on the same trial as I. Travelling through the city in a tuk tuk is a fantastic experience. You feel the heat, wind and busy nature of a city you wouldn't feel in a bus. The smells waft up your nose from the multiple street vendors, the shouts the screams all fly by as you take a glimpse into the shops as houses that people work and live in. Your emotions will never change quicker than on one of these journeys. At first you are shocked at the vile conditions that you witness in the slums away from the city, you are annoyed at your own health, warmth and wealth, clothes on your back and nice shoes in your bag. You feel sick for not helping these people, giving them your pocket change which would aid them in ways unimaginable, make them happier than a child on Christmas Day. And then you smile, you smile because they are smiling, laughing and joking, not caring about their condition or life style but taking it in their stride. You realise how beautiful they are, the women, naturally stunning with no make up, fancy hair and wearing plain clothes with sandals.
The bus station was a tin shack, with fruit and snack shops surrounding the area. Little benches filled the tiny open air waiting area. I found a seat at the back of the bus and prepared for what was the worst journey I have never endured. In the past I have travelled on overcrowded Chinese trains on nothing but a seat for days, took tricycles to remote areas, wooden boats across choppy waters and trekked through rivers and jungles but this was another level.
The first hour or so was very much standard. A little boy walked up and down the aisle handing each passenger a plastic bag for rubbish and a bottle of water. I used up the rest of my Laos kip on a cold baguette for the journey. We stopped after an hour, so the driver could have a cigarette and a piss, then an hour later we stopped again at a cross road lined with pop up restaurants and shops with young women sitting at the front waiting for tourists to purchase a pack of biscuits for 50p. I used the toilet behind the restaurant, like most of the shack South East Asian toilets, it was lacking general plumbing so a couple of buckets is how you flush away your waste. What surprises me is even though these are 3rd world conditions of going to the toilet, they still smell better than a public toilet in England. After a 30 minute break we continued our journey, and this is the part where it got rough. For the next 4 hours we travelled along, not a road, but a country path, with pot holes and huge drops at every turn. The bus went an average 15mph, dropping meters with no warning. If you were tired, forget it, energy trying to sleep is wasted. I banged my head, bit my tongue and shouted in rage at the lack of Tarmac on a main public road countess times. As soon as we hit properly maintained Tarmac, I passed out, only to be awakened by the drivers need to take a cigarette break every hour. We reached the Laos/Thai border 13 hours later having travelled about 350km. The rain was hammering down, forcing me to cover myself and my backpack in waterproof materials and was Shepard into a tuk tuk with no means to protect its passengers from the rain. At the border, locals directed us with a series of grunts and finger pointing to the river. I was given my ticket, had my Laos visa cancelled and made my way into a tiny boat, with the rain still lashing down. An old boat man sailed us across the river and I finally arrived in Thailand. The land of pad Thai, golden temples, full moon parties, and golden beaches.
- comments
Mother Love this blog, very interesting and eye opening - sitting here in comfort and riches - how selfish, how sad :(