Luang Prabang and the case of the missing phone

OK, now I’m really pissed off. I knew my phone had been stolen from our room but was too convinced that my brain had gone to mush to pursue it. It’s nowhere to be found. Will has made several phone calls to the Lane Xane Hotel, even offering $50 for it’s safe return, via an amnesty agreement, and still nothing. I had completely put my faith in the Buddhist karma, but once again, I’m disappointed. I am so angry, not just for losing all of my numbers but for not kicking up more of a fuss when I knew it had gone. That’s what not working for a year does to woman like me. Completely saps your confidence until you don’t trust your own brain anymore. And yet people used to trust me with millions of dollars only 12 months ago.

We leave our house but the key is missing. We search every nook and cranny, the freezer, the shower, our bags, but it’s gone. Will has to pay 500 Baht, and we set off for our minibus. 30 minutes into the journey and I open up Harley’s backpack….there’s the key. Will’s now more convinced than ever that my phone wasn’t stolen but magpied away by Harley.

Another stunning, if long, journey past Hmong hill tribe villages built literally on the edge of sheer cliff faces, inches from the road. Sunday seems to be washing day and most of the kids are naked whilst their clothes hang out to dry. A lot of the men are crouching down at the side of the road skilfully hacking down the grass with scythes. There’s chillies and bananas lying on sacks in the road, drying, kids darting in and out of the houses and into the road, chickens, pigs, cows and goats wandering around.

Following our previous “VIP bus” experience from Vientiane to Vang Vien, we’ve taken the mini-bus option this time and paid for Harley to have his own seat, hopefully guaranteeing a slightly more comfortable journey than the last. All on board, and there’s even two spare seats. That is until we’re about an hour into the journey and our driver stops and picks up two pretty, local young women who are walking up the hill and tells them to hop in, whereupon, after a moment or two’s hesitation, they both squeeze into the front seat. We think he’s just being kind and is giving them a lift to the next village and he’s rewarded by the girls being very giggly and flirty. An hour further into the journey and we’re wondering exactly where these girls were walking to as we climb higher and higher into the hills. As we pull into a local village where a few people are hoping to catch a ride with us, we notice the girls have pulled their coats over their faces so they can’t be seen. A man hops into the final empty seat in the back and all conversation from the front stops, but it would have been difficult to flirt with a coat anyway.

As we pull into Luang Prabang, the local man hops out, the girls suddenly spring into life again and there is much mutual “accidental” brushing of arms together across the front armrest. Which is when we realise that old Romeo in the front has persuaded these girls to take a little Sunday drive to Luang Prabang with him. A little detour of 6 hours there and then the same back again. Not sure if that 11pm curfew applies in the villages, but if it does, I somehow think they’re going to miss it.

Piling into the back of a songathew (which Will describes as a tuk tuk with attitude), we ask the driver for our guesthouse, Senesouk. We don’t know too much about it except that it’s opposite a Wat (Buddhist temple) Sene, which certainly doesn’t seem to be the case when we pull up outside a little guesthouse that is opposite a washing line. The driver tells us we’re here and starts hauling our bags out. We refuse to budge, except to haul our bags back in and ask him again to take us to Senesouk. “Yes, yes, Senesouk, here” he says. No, no, we say, that sign doesn’t say Senesouk. Out comes an old lady to the gate, nodding her head and trying to prise our bags away. The kids are bemused, we just want to get into a shower after our 7 hour bus ride. Eventually, Mr Trickster hops back into the drivers seat, old Auntie Mabel totters back indoors to put make her dinner and he takes us to our hotel. We jokingly scold him in French (not because we’re being pretentious (although I understand why you might think that, bien sûr), but because a lot of people here have a better understanding of French than English and our Laos vocabulary doesn’t quite stretch that far yet) and he accepts defeat graciously. Senesouk 4 new guests, driver’s aunty 0.

Why is nothing ever straightforward? When I try to book rooms online through various bookings sites, I get emails back saying that 2 adults plus 2 children exceeds the maximum number of people allowed in one room, so they suggest that I request a room for 2 adults and then, in the additional comments box, ask for extra beds for 2 kids. Ok, that works. Until we arrive at the Senesouk and find that the additional comments box hasn’t translated itself here so they’re showing us into a cell-like room with not enough room to swing even a newborn kitten. We finally get shown to a slightly larger room upstairs with a balcony, still cell-like and painted a delicate shade grey on the walls; a snug fit and the kids have to sleep on a makeshift bed on the floor. Of course, this is the first time we’ve had to pre-pay online, so there’s no option of finding another room, but at least this affords us a good view of the Wat opposite and I can perve on all the saffron robed monks.

Luang Prabang is now a World Heritage Site due to the significant amount of cultural sights of interest, but it’s pretty much a three road town. The main street, running through the middle; to the left a road that runs along the Mekong and to the right, a road that runs along the Nam Kham river. Luang Prabang sits at the confluence of the two. All very lovely and we decide to do a bit of exploring; bring on Green Discovery again to book a couple of trips. The first is a boat ride to the Pak Ou caves. Not very interesting. Small caves, lots of Buddhas. 4,500 to be precise, but most of them are only a few inches high. Our guide, Settha, is doing a good impression of a mute and seems to know very little about anything at all. I’m not impressed, to put it mildly. We’d paid an extra fortune to go further up the river and see the annual boat racing festival and things start to improve slightly once Settha pulls out the most amazing picnic (the best food I’ve eaten since I left home, and I’m fussy) complete with a whole fish. We tuck in whilst he sucks the head of the fish dry of every bit of flesh, eyeballs, brains… Even more interesting when the locals decide we’re the afternoon’s entertainment. So Will is challenged to eat a huge flying cockroach (they clearly don’t know Will), which he does with minimum fuss, only choking once he’s swallowed the body, head and wings and finds that the legs are hairier than mine, and certainly stick in his throat more. The local pop star and her fans take a shine to us and give us endless drinks, video us and drag me up to dance (I’d be happy to dance normally, but I’m wearing Birkenstocks and my cave-exploring dress. I’m a Londoner with at least a little finger on the pulse of fashion, don’t do this to me, not on video, please!). Bidding a fond farewell to our new-found friends, we head back to our boat with Settha leading the way down the local sewerage path. We stop at the local Lao Lao (a local brew made with rice, which Settha was at a loss to explain exactly how it was made, but the end result was fiery, to say the least, and contained a snake) producing village, sample their wares and head off back down the Mekong in slightly better humour than the trip up. Silent Settha is still mute.

We spend the next couple of days trying, unsuccessfully (twice), to see the Royal Palace, visiting the beautifully decorative Wat Xieng Thong (built in 1559 and one of the few to survive the Chinese raids at the end of the 19th Century, just in case you’re interested in a little bit of history…), visiting both the morning and the night markets and eating. And then there’s more trouble around the corner. We find a restaurant serving great food, which not only sells cocktails, but also has ½ price happy hour from 6pm everyday. Caiparoska-a-rhumba! And they’re good. A match for E&O, but at only £1.50 a go, I can have 6 here for the same price as 1 there. Except I can’t because by my third one, we’re being hassled to death by about 10 kids on the street, with crys of “buy from me, buy from me”, trying to sell the same bead bracelets and doll key-rings that we’ve already bought off one of the others 2 hours ago and our kids are getting restless, so 4, 5 and 6 will have to wait until tomorrow.

I’m woken at 6.30 in the morning by the sound of the Buddhist monks banging their drum, which signals the start of their morning alms round. I peek through the curtains and am greeted by the sight of about 200 monks, resplendent in their orange robes, walking very closely together along the pavements, collecting gifts of rice handed out by woman kneeling along the pavement. David Bailey’s dream. The photo opportunity, not the handfuls of rice.

After 2 nights in Wormwood Scrubs, we manage to change to a newly vacated cell, slightly bigger than ours, with an extra bed. We never did manage to work out why the head of the beds we up against the windows, meaning that, from our beds, we have a lovely view of the grey brick wall.

After we’ve served our 4 day sentence, we use our Get Out Of Jail Free card and manage to secure our release. We’re so delighted that we book ourselves straight into the Villa Santi Resort and Spa (www.villasantihotel.com), which is not only out of town, but out of our budget too. But since Will seems to have established himself as purse-holder as well as expensive hotel finder, I concede without fight.

It’s the first time on this trip that we’ve had the luxury of both nice room and nice pool. Previously, we’ve had one or the other. We spend our days sightseeing in the morning (finally getting to see the Royal Palace – third time lucky) and swimming in the afternoon. Ruby’s now ready for the duck-diving championships and Harley is now officially a swimmer after doing a doggy-crawl-paddle for 15 seconds, without armbands.

Another trip with Green Discovery and this time our guide is a match for Orphaned Ola. He’s called Nyi (pronounced Knee High, which he certainly isn’t), which means Big. At 5’ 10 ft tall, he’s certainly the tallest Laos person I’ve seen, but c’mon…..big?! In thankful contrast to Settha, Nyi is a mine of information and keeps us enthralled the entire days with local history and information. As we’re chugging downstream on our longboat, he tells us about the three tribes in Laos. The Lao people, the H’mongs (who live in the hills) and the Khmu (who have no written language, only spoken and live in the middle ground; a bit like the Swiss). The Laos are Buddhists but the H’mongs and Khmu’s believe in spirits. Girls marry between the ages of 15-17, after which age they’re considered too old. A bit like Lewisham. The H’mongs can take up to 5 wives. A bit like New Cross.

First stop off at the side of the Mekong is a Lao village where pottery-making was the order of the day (we misunderstood when he said we could buy some pot) and then to visit the Khmus (not allowed to take photos, otherwise they set the dogs on you, just before they barbeque them for lunch…). Another fantastic picnic is pulled out and, washed down with some cool Beerlao, we’re ready for a short walk up to the beautiful Kwang Si waterfall where we find a pool and hop in for a much deserved swim. Just gorgeous.

On the way back, we stop off a Hmong village where they spend their days sewing beautiful cushions, bags and bed covers. Since we’re down almost on the banks of the Mekong and yet the Hmongs are traditionally hill-dwellers, we figure this lot must be ex-bandits. Until 2 years ago, there were problems with bandits holding up the tourist buses so the government struck a deal with them that, in exchange for them not ruining the blossoming tourist trade, they would give them prime plots of land down on the river-edge. Who said crime doesn’t pay?

Saturday night, we get the babysitters in and Will and I head off for a hot night on the tiles. The Lao Lao Garden does us proud and, 3 bottles of Chablis later we agree that, come morning, we may find ourselves with our first hangovers in three weeks….the hangover was nothing compared to the badly twisted ankle Will wakes up to, which may have just perhaps, possibly, been inflicted by the naked balcony and hedge jumping performed with aplomb once the babysitter had scuttled off. And if he tells you I bribed him to do it by promising him something, he’s a liar…

We’re reluctant to leave so extend our stay by another two days. So today I leave the kids with Will (not reluctantly at all) and I head off to the Tamnak Lao restaurant for a cookery course. I’m joined by 5 other girls and a hottie Brazilian male chef. Starting with a tour of the local food market where you can buy any part of any animal, including blocks of congealed blood, I’m starting to lose my appetite. As we watch our chef Leng Lee prepare the first dishes, I’ve got my eye on the Brazilian dish of the day. We make a total of 5 of dishes, and I share a total of 5 Beerlaos with the Brazilian dishy. Bloody excellent food and a really good, fun day. I hope you like Lao food ‘cos that’s what you’re getting next time you come to ours for dinner!

Leaving tomorrow for the madness of Hanoi. Think it may come as a bit of a shock after the mellowness of Laos.

Oh, one more thing Nyi told us….1/3 of the Laos population contract malaria at some point in their lives. But don’t tell my mum.

Right, that’s it. See you in Vietnam. x

Vang Vien

Disaster. My phone has gone missing. If I didn’t have so little trust in my memory of late, I’d kick up a real fuss, convinced that t has been stolen from our room. Everything else of any value, apart from Will’s wallet and my Ipod were in the safe. But we’ve packed everything and it’s nowhere to be found. No matter, maybe it will turn up in one of the bags when we get to our next destination.

We board the bus and it’s packed to the rafters with students from Singapore who have been volunteering and have just built a woman’s toilet at one of the schools in Vientiane. They’re very excitable and we spend most of the journey listening, unavoidably, to the music emitting from one or other of their mobile phones/mp3 players. Very Euro-pop and inoffensive and it seems to calm Harley down as he manages to sit quietly (for him) on my lap for the journey which takes us through stunning scenery, past numerous waterfalls, a Hmong village, kids sitting in the road, young kids on bikes with friends on the back, cycling up steep hill with an umbrella in one hand, past cows wandering across the road and we very nearly run over a dog just the once.

Vang Vien has a pretty terrible reputation as the place to hang out getting stoned and watching back to back re-runs of The Simpsons whilst eating crap food, so it was number one on my top 10 list of places to avoid. Except that you can go tubing here, which sounded like a lot of fun, so something told me to give it a chance.

We decided to stay at the Thavansouk Resort, partly because it was a little distance out of town, although Will’s still convinced that I chose it purely because the Footprint guide book we have tells us to look out for “local, home-grown pop star Alounak, who runs the place”. I can’t tell you how beautiful this place is. Not only Ban Lao, our “traditional Lao house”, but the stunning view both from the picture window and the balcony. We’re right next to the Nam Xong river; fishermen wading knee high in the water, casting their nets over and over and over again, with the most amazing views of the mountains on the other side. Sheer, jagged rocks covered in thick forest, flocks of white birds flying over. None of us can believe either the view or our luck at stumbling across such a gorgeous place, especially when we had such low expectations. A short walk along the road, we found a great little restaurant where we were the only customers. I ate an excellent vegetarian Lap, the local Lao dish made with tofu, beans, chilli, garlic and loads of mint (normally also with meat or fish, but since I don’t eat meat and Will previously told me the fish tastes of river water, I’m now a tofu convert. I’ll be wearing hippy clothes next), the kids find three healthy looking kittens to play with and Will’s tucking into Ruby’s apparently delicious organic pork.

We go back to the room to read up on the tours available, and I decide that I want to book with Green Discovery as I’ve got all on my high horse since we’ve been in Lao about Eco-Tourism (see, I warned you about the hippy thing) and these people give 34% of their profits back to the local villages, employ Lao people and generally ease my conscience about tourism destroying Lao the way it has Thailand. I find it really sad that we’re part of the cycle that is destroying the cultures of these countries. We sit in a restaurant in Lao asking for pasta (for the kids) and then moan when we go to a place like Vang Vien that cooks more Western than local food. Supply and demand. And we’re unfortunately demanding it. I want to beat the kids over the head and force feed them Lap, but Will won’t tell me where he’s put the handcuffs or the whip.

So the little morning foray into town was not too shocking. We find the offices of Green Discovery, talk to them about tubing, they convince us that the kids would be much safer in a tube with us and we set off to the Luang Prabang bakery for some breakfast before heading off on our trip. Tubing is very simple. You take one mother of an inner tube (a tractor tyre maybe?), inflate it to within an inch of its life, hop on it and float down the river. Until you hit the fast flowing bits then you bump and grind over them. Sorry, no, not grind, I’m still thinking about those handcuffs. A very relaxing 3km with Ruby on my lap, Harley on Will’s, accompanied by our lovely guide Ola. We all agree that we’ve had so much fun, we’ll head back into town later and book another trip for a longer distance in the morning.

That’s when we get the shock. It really is like all the guide books, except it’s Friends on continuous loop, not Simpsons. In every restaurant, people are sitting stock still, drink on the table, staring at a TV which dominates the whole restaurant and cracking the occasional smile. We head into one of the only restaurants which seems not to be showing anything and, as soon as we sit down, they switch on the TV. No matter, it’s a cartoon, for the kids we imagine, and the kids haven’t seen any TV for nearly two weeks so it’s not the end of the world. I’m about the order a vodka and tonic when Will notices that, for not much more than the price of four of those, we can order 8 vodkas plus 2 cans of pepsi, tonic or red bull. Fine, we’ll have that then, with one red bull (for Will) and one pepsi (for me). Five minutes later and an ice bucket arrives with all if it mixed in together. Absolutely foul. Then the food arrives. Foul. Then I look up from my booklet I’m reading (probably about Eco-Tourism or how to be a self-righteous prick) and see that the kids cartoon is not that at all but some adult Simpsons-style cartoon talking about masturbating and according to Ruby, “using the swear word which rhymes with duck”. Will’s chuckling away and drinking from the ice bucket so I decide to show my disgust by seeking out my Eco-Warrior Green Discovery comrades and then going to the internet café. I book a trip for the next day, 9am start (oh dear, sorry family, that means you have to leave this godforsaken excuse for a restaurant RIGHT NOW in order to be up on time in the morning. Control freak? Me?).

We meet up with Ola for a trekking/caving/ tubing adventure that Gabby and family have previously enjoyed so much, only slightly deterred by the fact that, unless Harley’s less than 10 feet from water, he’s suddenly decided that his legs don’t work. To make his point, his falls to the ground declaring that he has no legs, which doesn’t bode well for trekking. So no points for guessing that Harley spends most of the day on Will’s shoulders whilst we explore; firstly, down a track to a boat which takes us across the river, through rice paddies, past bananas, beans and sweet potatoes growing side by side, to the Elephant Cave, so called because it contains a completely natural stalagmite in the shape of an elephant, complete with tusks and big, flapping ears. And if that was completely natural, I’m Jim Royle. My arse. The interesting thing about this cave is that it contains a bell, which, if struck hard with the right instrument, can be heard up to 3km away. The bell is, in fact, the casing of an old US bomb, dropped during the Secret War between 1964-1975, which Ola assures us is now safe, or, to paraphrase him, broken.
Next up, we attempt to climb up 20ft bamboo ladders, into a dark, muddy cave with miners lights strapped to our heads but it’s way to steep, dark, slippery and (with Harley’s OCD about dirt) muddy for our little bundle of dynamite, so I take the executive decision to take him back the way we’d come and let the rest go on. Will and Ruby apparently had a great time whilst Harley enjoyed collecting rocks and I eavesdropped on the backpackers discussing which countries they’d “done”. I’m far too old and cynical to be around backpackers.

The troops returned muddy but still smiling and we join them for a short trek to Snail Cave. Named because of its shape, we’re certain it’s also something to do with it being so slimy. I repeatedly get my Havianas stuck in the mud and almost knock Ruby flying several times as I slip and slide my way along.

Another short walk through the fields and we arrive at a beautiful pool of water, albeit with a super-strong current flowing out. I peel off my dress and dive in, eventually convincing everyone else to join me in the freezing but refreshing water. We watch a group of Japanese tourists squeeze through a tiny hole, into a cave beneath water level and Ola confides that he doesn’t think Will could fit. Will overhears and, either furious or embarrassed, decides that he won’t be beaten. So as I struggle to stop both kids being swept away, he plays macho-man and duck-dives into the cave. I video the kids gleefully waving their last goodbyes to daddy and we all get dressed. Five minutes later, a totally exhausted, but somewhat puffed up (with pride, some may say) Will emerges from the hole of holes, hauls himself out of the water and collapses as Ola does 2,000 sit ups (ok, I made the last bit up, but you get the picture). Will now has to bargain with Harley to walk as he can hardly stand up himself and certainly is in no fit state to carry Harley. So we do a bit of left-right, Top Gun style marching, “I don’t know what’s been said, but I see a tuk tuk up ahead”….and manage to get everyone down to the river for a final descent by tube. Ruby’s delighted to have her own tube and we float on down the river. During which time I interrogate 23 year Ola and discover that his father was killed 23 ½ years ago when he was digging in a field and stuck his spade into an unexploded American bomb, killing 5 other people with him. 10 years ago, his mother re-married, to a man who had been married before and she had been ill ever since, until she died an unexplained death 2 years later. Lao people have a strong belief in black magic and Ola believed that the mans ex-wife had put a curse on Ola’s mother, making her ill and causing her death, although he was unable to explain why the husband was still alive and healthy and had gone on to marry for a third time.

This explained why, age 15 until 19, Ola had become a Buddhist Monk, something he described as “wonderful, since you get to live with the monks and get a good education”. He left 5 years ago, when he’d had enough, joined the army for a year and then come to Viang Vien as a tour guide, His brother was also here, as a pancake seller in the street. Which would be a bit like having one son as a lawyer and one as a dustman, I guess.

So we float on down the river, past high swings set up, little bamboo bars pumping out house and trance music and decide to stop at the last bar on the river for a reviving drink. Will challenges the local shark to a game of pool and wins so, buoyed up by his testosterone, decides to show the kids who’s boss and bounds (ok, it’s Will. He doesn’t bound, but he’s looking over my shoulder right now, ok) up the rickety wooden stairs, one at a time, and takes the leap of death (aka a trapeze which swings you out into the middle of the water, you let go and then swim back in). We watch a guy do an amazing triple back flip with double hand flying somersaults and then we watch Will do an amazing belly flop into the water. Everyone’s having a good time and it’s nothing to do with the advertised £1.50 Happy Shakes – banana, milk and weed. Floating back by 6pm, we’re all too knackered to go anywhere and room service is the order of the night.

We’re meant to leave today but, too tired to move very far after yesterday’s adventures, we book another night in our gorgeous house. Will gets a haircut, then we head off to the only hotel in town with a pool where we spend the afternoon. Only one chore to do before we leave in the morning - I have to unpack and then repack all the bags again to try to find my phone.

Vientiane, Capital of Loa, PDR.

From Bangkok, there’s basically two ways to get to Vientiane. A direct flight for £120 each or fly to the Thai/Lao border and cross by bus for £30 each.

So after a sleepless night waiting until 4.30am for Will to return to the hotel from watching South Africa soundly thrash England at Rugby (at least, that’s what he tried to make me believe happened after I took the kids home in a taxi from the night market and left him at the junction of Patpong Road, girlie bar central…), we had a thankfully uneventful flight to Udon Thani (I’m not sure you want to hear all the details about the retired Aussie guy I was sitting next to who was flying back to Thailand, unannounced, in order to try to catch his Thai wife of 4 years out after she had stolen a load of his money…) where we all board the minibus for the 1 ½ hour journey to the Thai/Lao border, onto another minibus across The Friendship Bridge, and, thanks to our pre-arranged visas, get through into Lao, via the duty-free shop, in a relatively speedy, if a little sweaty, fashion.

We’re staying in possibly the quietest capital in the whole world, Vientiane, Lao. Or to give it it’s full title, Lao, People’s Democratic Republic. Formerly a Communist Country, tourism has only been allowed since 1990 and some of the rules here are still pretty tight. There’s an 11pm curfew every night when all the bars/ restaurants and clubs (of sorts…more later) must close. Loa music must be played for a certain amount of hours every day.

A little bit of history for you. In 1975, the Khmer Rouge took over Lao, the King abdicated, the monarchy was abolished and the Lao People’s Revolutionary Party took over. Anyone not matching up to the party’s standards were sent of to re-education camps. In 1975. Wow. I don’t know about you, but that freaks me out a bit. Whilst I was cycling around my cul de sac without a care in the world except how to catch more ladybirds than my brother, these people were being sent to re-education camps to be brainwashed.

Anyway, where was I? We’re staying in Lane Xang hotel, the best hotel in town – in it’s 1960’s heyday! Previously used by Government officials and visiting dignitaries, it may now be described by some as retro, whilst others may not be so kind! It has a certain Soviet charm. Thankfully, the bathrooms have been refurbed, even if the rest of the hotel feels like something that time forgot. Harley and Ruby have delightful towelling bed covers which Harley describes as “my favourite bed, EVER!” The pool has a certain eerie, faded charm to it and, in contrast to the gentle prayer-like greeting given everywhere else, we are saluted on our way in. Easy to imagine this being the happening place to be, 40 years ago. But we like it. Being tied to the US$, everything here is very cheap and our huge suite, inclusive of Soviet fittings and breakfast, is only $50 per night. There’s 3 staff to every guest, large bottles of Beer Lao (very light beer, so even I can manage a small one) at $1 a pop (so Will’s a very happy bunny) and massages at $3 per hour. So Ruby a I take advantage and toddle off for a massage, only spoilt by the fact that they keep stopping to take photos of Harley on their mobile phones.

Everyone here is as mesmerised by Harley, and to a lesser extent Ruby, as they were in Bangkok. Much touching, pinching his cheek, waving and clucking goes on every time we leave our room. Will draws attention in a different way. He gets looks of disbelief at his size (we think it’s his height, although it’s making him more paranoid about his weight). I’m the only one not getting any attention. Is it because I is not wearing any make-up?

We haven’t quite got the hang of the language yet, but Will asks the tuk tuk driver how to say Thank You and is convinced that it’s Hot Thai Girl (it’s actually Cop Chai Daa. See where his mind’s at?)

The heart of the city is very French (apart from the people…!), due to the fact that in 19th Century, their Emperor Tu Duk gave Loa to the French. Champs Elysee leads the Arc de Triomphe; Lane Xane leads to the Victory Monument. Same same. Looks the same, feels the same. Except for the tuk tuks, which creak and groan and whose brakes squeak and squeal every time we haul ourselves in. Maybe something to do with the fact that we have the combined weight of an extended Lao family, including cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents (on both sides)…

Saturday, day of arrival, we spend the afternoon by the pool, the afternoon doing some long overdue homework with Ruby (which is a very loooooong affair after 2 months without school. Let’s hope her concentration and ability both pick up over the coming days) and in the evening we head to Sticky Fingers restaurant where we are accosted by kids selling balloons, kids begging and a hill-tribe lady sending her 14-15 month old baby waddling over to our table, where he stands, open mouthed, begging for food. Unsure what to do, Harley hops off his seat and runs to Will, leaving his food behind. This infuriates the (Oz lady) owner and a row ensure between her and the mother which consisted of much jaw-jutting and chin-thrusting from both sides. We head on upstairs to where there is some live music and the kids get dancing to a mix of jazz and blues, with a bit of Stones thrown in for good measure. A few too many bum notes and we decide it’s time for bed.

Monday was a delightful day of contrasts. Over to Talaat Sao, the largest market in Lao, via the scenic route home. Every tuk tuk ride here is an adventure in itself. Most roads have 2 names, pre- and post- Soviet and most drivers don’t know either of the names and have to be guided by the name of the nearest Wat (temple), which can lead to some seriously odd journey’s since we don’t know where we’re going either. Back to the pool to help poor, sweaty Harley cool down, then a trip to the Cultural Centre to watch a rock concert, which was too late starting for us to stay, and then a second evening attempt to find Le Nadao, reportedly the finest (French) restaurant in the whole of Lao. The kids and Will enjoyed their Cote de Boeuf, whilst I struggled to eat my scallops, complete with orange ovaries, but the desserts were truly scrumptious. From there, back to our hotel where Ruby wants to look in on the in-house disco, one of very few in town. A sight to behold indeed. A 4 piece band on stage, a singer and 5 women shaking tambourines, whilst pairs of finely dressed girls did ballroom dancing around the dance floor. The faster the music got, the more furiously they twirled around and around in ever decreasing circles until I felt I might fall over just from watching them. Apparently, ballroom dancing was amongst the things previously outlawed under Soviet rule so now it’s back with a vengeance.

A few chores to do today, including dumping about 5kgs of stuff we really don’t need (bye bye Barbies) and posting 7kgs off to Oz in order to make our next journey less sweaty than the last, followed by a relaxing afternoon at the pool and lunch at the Settha Palace, a much finer pool than ours, where Harley’s swimming much improves due to the fact that we’ve forgotten his armbands and he has no option but to try to swim. We round off the day with a kiddie friendly pizza/pasta dinner at La Terrasse and pack in preparation for our 3 ½ hour bus ride to Vang Vien tomorrow morning.

But at least I can sleep well tonight after finding out that it’s against the law for foreigners to sleep with Laoations outside of marriage. So that’s why I’m not getting the attention the rest of the family are getting. Noone dare look at me for fear of falling for my undeniable charm and inevitable risk of prison!