The Visitation

One of the joys of my life is having friends around to laugh with so life was especially joyful for me when not one, but two lots of dear friends arrived to see me here in dear old Luang Prabang last month.

Marion and Lawrence from Australia and David and Grecia from Canada braved Lao Airlines inflight food and came to make sure I haven't gone troppo up here in the land of three dollar massages, five dollar rooms and free Mekong views.

Xieng Thong Temple with its grand and glorious buildings and especially the walls decorated with inlaid bits of coloured mirror fragments depicting a fantastic series of stories about giant rabbits, warriors, princesses, elephants and farmers, is an absolute treat. We wandered the dusty streets, shopping for mulberry paper lanterns, nibbling sweet potato biscuits, searching for cans of cold tonic water and discussing the effectiveness of our respective diarrhoea remedies and preventitives.

In the evenings we tried all sorts of restaurants, Indian, Lao and European; some were delightful, others gave us great material for future anecdotes. Ask Lawrence about the small shrivelled item---rather like an old shrunken shower cap---that he was given when he asked for an omelette. We all agreed that Nisha's Indian was a standout favourite and we loved Toui's for breakfasts, mainly for the position, the ambience and the pancakes. And the rather adorable Toui, of course.

Marion and Lawrence and I went up the Mekong for a day with my mate Mr. Thongdy to the Pak Ou caves, smoky grottoes in a sheer cliff face where people have installed hundreds of Buddhas over the years. We visited the tiny temple and wandered through the sweet dusty village of Pak Ou on the other side of the river and had a meal in one of the rickety bamboo platform restaurants high on the banks of the river, where we watched the fishermen throwing their nets and beating the water and the buffaloes munching and the children playing in the golden sunshine.

And the sweating troupes of tour groups puffing up the banks from their boats, which meant it was time for us to leave. A lovely ride home down the big brown Mekong, where there is always a pleasant breeze. Mr. T let me drive the boat, but I noticed his gnarled little brown hands were never far from the wheel, as the Mekong is a treacherous, fast moving beast in the dry season with rocks and sandbanks everywhere.

Then Marion and Lawrence and I and my new friend Francine, the indomitable nurse from France with many hair-raising tales to tell about her missions with Medicins sans Frontiers,
went off to Siem Reap in central Cambodia to penetrate the mysteries of Angkor with Lawrence as our intrepid guide, he having read all the books.

Siem Reap was a dreary, hot, dusty little place, but it is mushrooming with obscenely grand new hotels plus the usual assortment of cheap guesthouses and extremely persistent tuk tuk drivers and street vendors.

The real reason to be there is of course the vast temple complex of Angkor, ancient city of the Khmer and others who participated in the bloodthirsty pageant that is the history of SE Asia.

For $40 Usd., one got a 3 day pass to wander all over the place and marvel at it all. We hired two tuk tuks and made a feeble attempt to see what we could, but it would take months to do the place justice because you need to keep taking breaks to let it all sink in. And have a shower and a cold drink.

The heat, the incredible crowds, the crush of traffic and vendors of knock-off guidebooks, scarves, t-shirts, you-name-it make it harder to have the serene experience that you might like, but all in all I'm delighted to have had the experience and will mull over the images of the tall blackened temples, statuary and carving, especially the one where nature has been allowed to grow over the ruins for a truly powerful picture of nature and civilisation quietly, inexorably trying to strangle each other.

There were tears when I had to say goodbye to M. and L. as they headed for BKK and home, and then Francine went off back to Luang Prabang and I decided I'd better see some of southern Laos, since it was right there and all.

Pakse, on the Mekong, well....you can keep it, thanks. I guess I'm spoiled after the delights of Luang Prabang, but it's hot and dirty and flat and there's very little attractive architecture. It is, however, the jumping off point for the Bolaven Plateau, high and cool and covered in coffee plantations, national parks and waterfalls.

I went up to an exquisite little resort called Tad Fane which is named for the twin waterfalls across a deep gorge from the resort, and the waterfalls are named for the deer or fane which apparently went over the falls at some stage.

That would have been a dramatic way to go as the falls are 120 meters high and thunder refreshingly in the background as one lounges on the verandah of one's fetching little timber cottage or perches up in the high main verandah where meals and incredibly cheap and generous gin and tonics are served.

One stares, fascinated, at the falls, one a delicate veil of white droplets the other a thumping great gout of water that hits a rock outcrop halfway down and then crashes to the bottom of the sheer drop.

If one isn't recovering from a bout of persistent bronchial discomfort one goes off merrily for long hikes with a guide into the forest. I decided to try it anyway, and it was a great walk, wandering through coffee trees, then scrambling up and down vertical hills, clinging to tree roots and vines and climbing over rocks with Marco and Julia, young Germans from Singapore, who were gasping for breath just as much as I was, I am happy to say. Our fleet-footed local guide, the cheerful Sack, with very good English, wearing rubber sandals, basically skipped up and down the track without any difficulty.

It was worth the burst lungs and hours of coughing that followed later, however, for the thrill of standing at the very top of the falls and looking across the gorge at our accomodation, where people were trying to take beautiful photos of savage natural beauty but had to include us sweaty hikers as well.

One the third day I rose and walked down the dusty (I know I say that a lot but it IS dusty) road hoping not to have to wait too long before I could flag down a bus, only to have it arrive at precisely the moment I put my foot on the pavement. One seat left next to a small gnarled forest-dweller with amazing tattoos with whom I would loved to have talked. An hour and a half later I was in poor sad little Pakse with a beer and a huge Masala Dosai for lunch and by the evening back in cool, lovely Luang Prabang.

Thus endeth the lesson. I'll be back with news of the house I'm about to rent and renovate....I can hear Peter's blood pressure surging upwards from here at THAT news, but at least it means that the curious will log back on to find out what it's all about!