I’m not sure what they have done to deserve it, but it seems almost instinctive. I just cant stand them. They give me the impression of being unhappy, of being mean, of being violent. Spiders in the UK may not be able to envenomate a human, but that doesn’t stop them from trying. I have been bitten by an English spider, and it was a little shocking to actually feel it. I hoped I wouldn’t be bitten by any on my travels. I trace my fear back to my early teens where a nest of the little blighters was on the wall in my room and I awoke to find myself crawling with them. But, if I am honest with myself, it goes back further than that. I vividly recall, at the age of 6, bursting into tears when my mother gave me a wind-up spider as a Christmas present. It is amazing that a childhood memory can trigger a certain response; that of wrath. You see, I am not so much afraid of spiders, than that I have to kill them when they are present. In England this usually amounts to a fencing lunge while wearing shoes, or the services of a cat, but English spiders are generally small; what is to be done when the spider is bigger?

The correct way to conquer a fear is to face it down. This worked with my childhood fear of the dark, which I cured by locking myself in the airing cupboard. It also worked with my fear of heights by my jumping off the highest bungee in New Zealand. Sitting here now, can I say the following tales have cured me of a fear of spiders? I will leave that to the end of the article, after my memory has disgorged these tales.

Warning. If you are scared of spiders, then these stories may make you want to never leave your house. Of course, and especially if you live in the country, your house is teeming with them already.

Just so you know.

All of the following are absolutely true. I know because they happened to me. Honestly, I don’t know why so many of the bastards came after me, it must be in revenge for the thousands I have killed in the UK. I think they put the word out that Basho was coming, with orders to crawl all over him…

…and so they did.

The one where Basho meets the Wolf and White Tailed spiders of Australia.

Cesca and I lay in the hostel. It was hot as hell. That sort of muggy heat not usual to an Englishman, who is more used to cold North Sea climates. It was the heat of Cairns, on the north east coast of Australia, a muggy tiring wet heat. We were exhausted. Not least of all because this was the morning after our three day diving course and we had been working hard, but also because we had been out all night celebrating our having passed the training. No one can drink as hard as a crowd of divers. Even Rugby players would have watched us from across the bar and remarked, “Oh, surely that’s just too much!”

Cesca stirred on her side of the bed and groaned. Obviously the head ache was coming for her. “I think we need to take a few days off.”

I opened an eye, “Sure.” I paused. “Just one point, we don’t have jobs to take a day off from.”

“We have been bussing up this country for the last two weeks! I need to take a rest before we go on.”

“You have something in mind?”

Without bringing her head out of the bed covers, she reached a hung-over arm to her bedside table and without looking picked up a pamphlet and slapped it on my chest.

I considered the pictures and title. The text was nigh on unreadable in my current mental state. “The Sanctuary?” I asked.

“Three days of peace in the jungle.”

“Ok. But, first breakfast.”

So a the next day we arrived at the Sanctuary. Built as a yoga retreat literally in the jungle south of Cairns, the main longhouse dominated the lush trees all around. The brochure spoke of wild cassowaries’ roaming the tracks, it also said that if you didn’t like spiders then perhaps this was not your place. The owner drove us up to the longhouse and I saw that it was of the highest build quality. A sort of open plan restaurant, bar and sitting room. It was wide and tall and peaceful. I loved it immediately.

The owner checked us in, and I whispered to Cesca, “Where are the rooms?”

She simply smiled and said, “You’ll see.”

The owner handed us over to a Woofer to show us our room. Woofers are people swapping work in exchange for free accommodation. It is a way of getting around the need for a working Visa when visiting a country. A month from this day we too went Woofing, which you can read about here. Anyway, he was English, and a nice guy. He led us out of the Longhouse and down the path on the hill, into the jungle that enveloped us immediately. The path cut a neat swath through the trees and light filtered through the leaves to become dappled as it played over our faces. The guy was speaking, and I wasn’t really listening until suddenly my ears pricked up.

“Yeah, we had one in room one the other night.” he was saying, “that’s your room.”

“Oh, really?” said Cesca.

“Yeah, they called me down to get it out,” he motioned a thumb at me, “but, you have him. Don’t worry.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Huntsmen,” said Cesca.

Huntsmen spiders. “I see” I said in that careful English way of voicing extreme discomfort.

The Woofer, being English, picked up on it straight away, “Hey don’t worry about it, you will be fine.”

Then I saw the room and I use the term lightly. Imagine this: You take a frame of a room, just the edges, like a wireframe model, and instead of walls made of wood or bricks you use green netting. So the room was basically a square tent in the jungle, and right amongst it.

“The sun rise is the best bit, “the Woofer explained, “It comes up the path and through the trees. It is wonderful way to wake up.”

Cesca exclaimed in excitement and clutched my arm.

“Wow,” she said.

I must admit, it was special. The room had a large bed in the middle and no power. Not even a light, but it had that rustic charm experienced only by those living on desert islands and perhaps by Tarzan. Of course, the netting was not what you might call airtight; it wrapped around the frame leaving huge gaps open to the outside. Anything that crawled could get in.

We plonked down our stuff and ventured back to the longhouse for lunch. There we met with some very nice people and made some good friends. Friends that I am glad to say, have stayed so. We talked with them and the woofers until the night fell and had an excellent bottle of wine. Then the time came to head to bed. The path was darker than a black-hole and without a torch the steep path could be dangerous. Slowly we made our way down to our room and took it in.

“Go on then,” Cesca said nudging me with her arm.

“Go on then what?”

“Go check the room.”

I sighed and reaching into my go-bag took hold of the nearest blunt object, which turned out to be a plastic lunchbox lid. I hefted it a few times and motioned to Cesca to follow me. We climbed up to the door and played our torch over the green fabric. It very neatly blocked the light from entering the room and I realised we would have to check it from the inside.

I found the bolt and clicked it open. I had that sense one gets when sneaking around the house for fear of waking someone.

“Get on with it,” Cesca said.

I pulled a face, turned on my head torch and flung open the door. Immediately something moved in the room. I heard a scrabbling of something frightened and annoyed at being disturbed. My torch played around the net-walls of the room as I tried to locate the source of the noise when suddenly a cricket ball sized shape flickered into view and flashed towards me. Cesca stepped back and I involuntarily cried out as the white shape, only just caught in the torch light, flashed directly at my face. Instinct kicked in and I batted it away with the plastic lid in my hand. The contact was a heavy thunk and whatever it was fell back into the room, only to flow carefully in an arc and flash for my face again. I batted it away, terror giving my body extra might but, again, it simply came straight for me. Over the next ten seconds I played tennis with it, crying out like a professional, batting it backhand and forehand in desperation to get it to stop coming for me. What was it? My mind screamed. Suddenly I realised that I was standing in the way of the exit. It was probably trying to get away! I jumped to one side and my head torch, loosened by the action, was flung from my head and fell against the doorframe to end up at my feet. Almost immediately the creature made a dash for it and…

…landed on it.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by my heart pounding. Both Cesca and I leaned in and took a close look. It was a, slightly battered, Goliath Moth. It had been attracted to the bright light of my head torch and acted only as come naturally for a moth. We looked at each other and laughed. I put the poor fellow outside the door. Goliath Moths are huge in the extreme and he was not permanently damaged by our 2 sets to 1 encounter.

We checked every inch of the room that night, but nothing was there and after a cuddle, we tried to sleep. In the morning I awoke to find Cesca wide awake, with her camera in her hand, pointing at something. Sitting on the bed post, staring at us, was a large spider. It was moving its feet in time like it was tapping them in impatience. Cesca was taking photos of it. I looked and thought I recognised it as a White Tail spider.

White-tailed spiders are medium-sized spiders native to southern and eastern Australia, and so named because of the whitish tips at the end of their abdomens. Common species are Lampona cylindrata and Lampona murina. Both these species have been introduced to New Zealand.^[1]

White-tailed spiders are vagrant hunters who seek out prey rather than spinning a web to capture it. Their preferred prey is other spiders and they are equipped with venom for hunting. WIKIPEDIA

The White Tail has a fearsome reputation outside Australia, mainly due to exaggerated stories in the papers regarding the effect of its bite. It is said that the venom causes necrotic lesions in the victims flesh and huge chunks of your body rot and never heal. Photos abound the net of the damage these white spiders cause.

So say.

Suffice to say that while a bite from one is not something you want; it would bloody hurt, the flesh eating venom has not been proven by science. It may be that there is a particular variety of White Tail that causes this damage, or it may be something else altogether, Nevertheless, I wanted nothing to do with it. The idea that it may have been crawling all over us was bad enough. We gave it a wide birth and dressed for breakfast. It rotated to follow our movements around the room and then climbed onto the wall where Cesca snapped this photo:

Wandering up to the Longhouse was somewhat of relief by this point. I wanted nothing more to do with spiders, giant moths and jungle for one day. We met up with our new friends and sat down for breakfast.

Here it comes…

As we tucked into the repast and regaled the above two stories to our friends over coffee and eggs, the male of the pair suddenly pointed at my right shoulder.

“You have a bloody big spider on you mate.” He said alarmed.

I remember thinking that he must have been joking, just adding some spice to the story we were telling, and I laughed. It was only when Cesca, sitting next to me, put her fork down very slowly that I realised that he wasn’t joking. For some reason I didn’t panic at all. In fact at this point in the proceedings I was cool as a cucumber. I was so cool you could keep a side of beef in me for a month. My conscious brain took hold of me and controlled my reactions.

I looked.

On my right shoulder, looking straight at me, front legs raised threateningly, was a Wolf Spider the size of my fist. And I have big hands.

“Indeed” I said.

Wolf spiders are members of the family Lycosidae, from the Greek word “?????” meaning “wolf”. They are robust and agile hunters with good eyesight. They live mostly solitary lives and hunt alone. Some are opportunistic wanderer hunters, pouncing upon prey as they find it or chasing it over short distances. Others lie in wait for passing prey, often from or near the mouth of a burrow. WIKIPEDIA

I could see his eyes reflecting mine as the Wolf Spider has very large eyes. I could see his fangs. He was so close that my left eye couldn’t pick him up properly and so I one-eye goggled at him.

With a smooth and definite motion I reached up with my right hand and swept him down and away from my body. Unfortunately the angle I chose was not a good one and the spider battered into the table edge, flicked over in mid air and landed feet-first on my testicles. I remember clearly feeling his eight feet dig in as he landed. He was cupping my love spuds with the manner of one who has been ill used, but then fate has handed him the ultimate chance of payback and he was weighing his options. This time I jolted in terror as my subconscious, clearly upset with the pigs-ear my conscious brain had made of the situation thus far, stepped in with an adrenal dump into my muscles.

For me time slowed as the chemical cocktail entered my blood stream. All sorts of fighting systems powered on. I felt no pain or fear anymore. I felt no discomfort as all pain signals were dampened. My reactions and hand to eye coordination improved two fold and my vision narrowed with my pupils contracting to focus on the coming conflict. It was as if my conscious brain had been relieved of duty and locked in his room. The subconscious had pressed the “whoop ass button”.

With a speed that would have out-foxed Bruce Lee, my right hand moved so fast it tore reality apart at the seams. For under a picosecond there existed a perfect quantum moment as time divided the future into two streams. In one stream the spider still had my balls in its grip and yet in a spate of time that made a microsecond seem like an eon the other reality stream exerted itself and the spider was batted off my family jewels. My great haste caused small localised black holes to burst into existence and suck away the winsome reality where the eight legged freak still had hold of my love spuds!

Time’s flow returned to normal and I breathed a sigh of relief as the large spider picked himself up of the floor and ran out of the room.

“Wow,” noted Cesca, “You ok?”

“Yes. Now, where was I?”

The one where Basho meets the Australian Redback

“What do you think?” Cesca asked.

I looked at the man in question and considered the options. “Hell, why not, he looks OK” Actually, he looked a little crazy.

We had met Franco only about an hour before. He was a passenger on our train from Alice Springs, deep in the outback, to Adelaide on the southern coast. We were going overland onboard the famous Ghan train, one of only four trains in the entire country. By far he was the most vocal man I have ever met, talking ten to the dozen to anyone who would listen. Cesca had been drawn into one of the conversations and they had hit it off. I joined in and we both talked to him, pumping him gently for any information about Adelaide that may help us during our coming stay there. Franco was a goldmine of information on the subject. He was Italian Australian and had lived in Adelaide for most of his life. The difficulty was picking the information out of the high flow stream-of-conscious constant talking he was doing.

“Talks a lot, doesn’t he?”

“He’s just had a near death experience”

Franco had explained, to anyone who would listen, that he had just survived three days in the desert after his car got bogged in sand on the way back from an Aboriginal commune. He had been in the commune to see some aboriginal artist friends who had asked for help dealing with the governments new mischief. The government had closed all the stores in the commune and opened a government store, which only took tickets in exchange for food and supplies. An action known as the Intervention, but to Franco was clearly apartheid. The dishonour of this had been getting the Aborigines down and they had asked for help. Franco had driven across the desert to see what was happening and had got stuck on the way back. For three days. Finally, he had been rescued by some Aborigines and pulled out of the sand.

I looked out of the window at the searing Australian outback passing by. It was exceedingly inhospitable and I wondered if his story was true.

“How did you survive?” I had asked.

“Oh, I went into starvation meditation.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, I was a monk in Italy and learned the technique, it was the only thing that saved me.”

“A monk…”

“Yes, I walked across Europe dressed as Charlie Chaplin, for peace, I got to Rome and demanded to meet the Pope and after he saw me I became a monk.”

“The Pope…”

“Yes, but I am not a monk anymore, I teach at the University.”

“I see…”

“I know, why don’t you guys come and stay with me? I can show you around Adelaide…In exchange for a little gardening. Mow my lawn for example.”

He continued for about twenty minutes, almost gasping his breaths.

Cesca asked me again, “What do you think?”

“You believe him?” I was not sure that I did.

“Yes, why not?”

I looked at Cesca, she was a much better judge of this sort of thing than I. I tend to put everything through the filter of firstly, my martial arts training, then my sceptical filter born in the crucible of my Philosophy degree. Cesca had studied neither of these and so tended to trust her instincts, which are excellent. A lesson in natural Daoism that is not lost on me and one of the things I adore about my wife. The next morning, the train arrived in Adelaide and we departed. Franco rushed to get his car and we saw it coming off the train.

It was covered head to toe in red dust.

So, soon, we stood in his front room and he was still talking. It had become to us like a background track, its constancy driving the sound under our conscious radar. I didn’t mind, near death experiences remind us that life is precious, and I am sure I would feel the same – and be talking to everyone – if I had been in his situation.

If you can talk, then you are still alive.

“I have to go out, a Aborigine in prison has freaked out, and I am his carer.”

“Sure, Franco, no problems.” By now, his constant and outlandish life was not raising my eyebrows. I was not sure I believed half of it, but we was a nice guy to have us to stay.

He went. Leaving two people he has just met alone in his house.

“You know Cesca,” I said to her, “everyone always trusts you. It’s your charming face. We should become criminals, we would make millions.”

She laughed, “Have you seen the back garden?”

“No, not yet.”

“Go take a look. Oh and by the way…” She pointed towards the sideboard. I looked and saw a single framed photograph. I leaned in to see it clearly.

It was a photograph of Franco dressed as Charlie Chaplin, on the steps of the Vatican, talking to the Pope.

I walked out to the rear garden and took a look at it. The grass was four feet long. I would need a chainsaw to cut it down to size. Franco made good on his promise that day and took us around Adelaide to see the sights. We all had a great time and got on very well. The next day, armed with an industrial hedge trimmer I set to work on the lawn. It was slow going, but eventually I had removed enough to revel a path running through the garden as well as the remains of a fallen down barbecue. The four of us, Cesca, Franco, his friend (a local tree expert) and myself, started pulling the bricks from the thicket and throwing them in a wheel barrow.

Franco was still talking constantly. He really hadn’t drawn breath in the last two days, and always about himself. I don’t think he even asked us what our jobs had been until we prompted him. I was not really listening to what he was saying as I reached for the bricks, but something he mentioned made me turn and look, a brick still in my hand.

Then I looked back and the Redback spider looked right at me.

The Redback spider (Latrodectus hasselti) is a potentially dangerous spider native to Australia. It resembles a Black widow spider. It is a member of the genus Latrodectus or the widow family of spiders, which are found throughout the world. The female is easily recognisable by its black body with prominent red stripe on its abdomen. Females have a body length of about a centimetre while the male is smaller, being only 3 to 4 millimetres long. The Redback spider is one of few animals which display sexual cannibalism while mating.

Redbacks are considered one of the most dangerous spiders in Australia.^[1] The Redback spider has a neurotoxic venom which is toxic to humans with bites causing severe pain. There is an antivenom for Redback bites which is commercially available. WIKIPEDIA

Redback spiders are common in the gardens of Australia, but that is not a comforting thought. It had been many years since someone died from a bite from one, but this was mainly due to the availability to the anti-venom, rather than any decreasing species lethality. The results of the bite are almost immediate. Firstly, it hurts like a kick in the teeth. Apparently, you know you have been nipped by one; there is no doubt. The second result is the shakes, followed by all your mucus membranes going into overdrive. After this your entire body starts to hurt. This get increasingly worse for three days until, in agony, you either get better or have a heart attack. Of course, the anti-venom makes the worst of it fade quickly.

I tried to calculate the distance to the hospital in my head, but the spider had me mesmerised. The Redback is well named, it is coal black apart from a very red stripe down its back. It is also quite small. A relative of the black widow, the Redback is a modern web spinning spider like your average house spider. It as thin stick like legs and raises its body high above them. When threatened, it lacks the displays of the other, more ancient, type of spider and instead raises only a few legs to reveal the fangs.

This is what it was doing now. Probably annoyed at being dragged into the light by a jobbing Englishman. After all, given the state of Franco’s garden, it had been given a free run of the place for months. Cesca spotted the spider and came to the rescue. Or at least I thought she did, what she actually did is take a close up photo of the little blighter on her ever present camera:

“Thanks darling, big help.”

She laughed.

“Franco!” I called, “Look what I have found.”

Franco came over to look at the killer spider. He considered it for a few seconds.

“Oh yeah, the garden is full of ‘em”. He then picked it up with one hand and chucked it away. Like it was a woodlouse, not like it was a dangerous spider. Cesca and I were amazed. What is it with Australians and dangerous animals? They have no fear whatsoever. Is it that you simply have to get used to them? Or perhaps Franco’s near death escape from the desert had made him feel invulnerable? I don’t know, but he didn’t hesitate at all, one second the spider was in charge and the next it was flung through the air, probably wondering why it had bothered getting up this morning!

The one where Basho meets the biggest spider in the world, in Laos

In 2002 science discovered the worlds largest spider. It was a great day for science. Deep in the caves of the country of Laos, lived a real monster. A local variety of large and aggressive spider, common in Asia and Australasia, known as the Giant Cave Huntsman.

The giant huntsman spider (Heteropoda maxima, from maximus, meaning “the largest”) is a spider of the Heteropoda genus. It is considered in a December 2008 WWF report as “the world’s largest Huntsman spider. “^{[2] WIKIPEDIA}

This genus of spider is famous for a number of reasons, firstly it is large. Secondly, it is mean. Thirdly, it is fast as hell. The average Huntsman encounter is over in two seconds, as the hapless human comes face to fang with one and screams, by the time the sound has reflected off the corner of the room and made it back to your ears, the spider will have started his jet engines. A horrible scrabbling, scraping sound, a blur of speed and an eight legged bolt for the door. If you are standing in the way of the spiders jump-to-lightspeed then you may well get bitten. I remember the description of the beast in the Australian book of spiders; it simply read, “Ready biter.” Anything that is a ready biter is not my kind of petting animal, no matter how many, or how few, legs it has.

Luckily being bitten by one is not fatal nor particularly dangerous, it just hurts like hell. Well, that’s OK then!

So, in these caves, scientists discovered something new, something huge. Of course, this was science’s discovery of the beast, the locals have been putting up with them for generations stretching back to the stone age, but since they don’t know any Latin they don’t count. The Huntsman is impossible to miss, even when not super-sized. It has longer front legs that curve around in a particular way, hence you cant mistake one for something else. These scientists, exploring the caves, came across the Laos Cave Huntsman and, after a large scream and probably a brandy, announced it to he world in triumph.

I have something to tell them. Drop the “Cave” part of the name.

Cesca passed me a drink, as we were starting early. We all were. Our little group of 7 party animals had arisen at 6am on this special day. We were seated in a makeshift wooden bar on the bank of a Mekong tributary river, about 12 miles north of the Laotian town of Vang Vieng. Vang Vieng is roughly half way down Laos and a famous stopover on the backpacker trail. In fact, it holds a certain amount of awe and dread. Anyone over 28 (myself and Cesca excluded) pretty much hates it, while anyone under 25 considers it heaven. This is because the city exists for pretty much only one reason; hedonistic partying.

The plan was simple. We were going tubing, which I had been assured by my Irish friend Colin was the, “best time I ever had, and I’m not joking”. I had no doubt, since the premise had a lot of opportunity for fun. Tubing is when you hire an inflated lorry inner tube, about 4ft across, and sit upon it as you float down the river back to the town. That’s the idea. The reality is that around 20 shack like bars containing swings, mud pools and buckets of strong drink, had taken up residence on the riverbanks lining the route. So, tubing basically involves drinking all day, floating from bar to bar and dancing with a lot of drunk girls wearing only bikinis.

Maybe, Colin had a point; this was going to be fun.

We were making an early start on the drinking before even getting a foot wet. Bobbits and Lenin had steered the rest of us into the bar next to the start point and bought a round of drinks. I didn’t mind, as the bar was right on the banks of the river and I could see across to the stunning Karst mountains of Laos. The view is amazingly beautiful as the mountains jut out of the flat fields and reach straight up to the sky. The sun was rising behind them and coronas glowed around the tops, high above the plains.

Cesca and I watched and then smiled to each other.

“I read,” I said, “that during the war, the Vietnamese army and the Communist Laotians hid in those mountains.”

“Cool, are there caves?” she asked.

“According to Lenin’s book he lent me, yes, huge deep caves. They are about 2 miles away from here, I’d say. Many are not fully explored. There could be anything in them. Perhaps we can go visit them before we leave Vang Vieng?”

Cesca arched an eyebrow, “Bats?”

I shrugged and supped my drink. It was hella’strong.

Cesca eyed her drink and chuckled, “Yes, I would like that, but let’s see how we feel tomorrow.” She then looked straight at me, “No bats.”

Lenin spoke up, “Best to use the toilets before we get on the tubes.”

“Good idea,” I said finishing my drink. “I bet they’re out back. Baggsy’ first,” and I rushed off ahead.

Sure enough around the back of the bar was the traditional Laos toilet block. Four cubicle shacks made out of uneven planks of wood with a straw roof to keep off the rain. Like a cargo cult of a phonebox. I pushed open the creaking door of the first one. A basic Asian toilet, little more than a hole in the ground awaited me. No light or any toilet roll. Just a bucket. Sighing, I squeezed into the small dark and foul smelling hut, pushed the door closed and squatted over the hole. I was humming to myself tunelessly in the dark gloom when I heard the following conversation outside the toilet:

“F*cking Hell!” came the voice of Lenin. He sounded genuinely shocked.

“Look at that one!” said Mariluz. She sounded revolted.

“Bloody hell,” came Cesca’s worried tones, “I am glad I am not in that cubicle!”

“It must be the biggest spider I have ever seen!” reiterated Lenin.

Spider! The word was like ice down my back. They were standing outside my cubicle. With a creeping terror I looked slowly up. Above my head, so close that it is miracle I didn’t catch it with my hair when I entered, was the biggest spider in the world. What was immediately clear to me was that is was looking directly back at me. the Laos Cave Huntsman, always posed to run or bite, was considering his options.

It was lucky that I was in my current position, because this revelation was like like a jolt of electricity through my body and I involuntarily let out a small mammalian whimper. Surely the same whimper two legged creatures have been making in similar situations since the dawn of time.

“Basho!” came Lenin, “Are you in that one?” He laughed out loud.

“Look up darling,” said Cesca.

I tried to talk and look inedible at the same time, only gibberish came from my lips, “Bwwwwahhhh…”

“Yep, that’s Basho,” said Cesca.

I quickly finished my business and pulled up my trousers. Still squatting I waddled out of the toilet. My friends saw my horrified face and could not stifle a laugh. I stood and turned to see the monster hanging over the hutch.

“What the smeg is that thing? Its huge!” I said trying desperately to look nonchalant.

“Dunno, but I think it wanted to eat you,” laughed Lenin.

The rest of the crew elected to go in the other cubicles and afterwards they forgot the monster and got on with enjoying the day.

Enjoy it we did, but I cannot look at the following video of us sitting in the bar without remembering the spider looking at me as I looked at him.

The one where Basho visits Spiderville, Cambodia

It all came about when our Laos travelling companions decided to fly out of Siem Reap in Cambodia; over 28 hours away.. They left the journey as late as possible so that they could make a final rush for the airport (they were flying to Australia) and sleep on the flight. The last thing they thought we would do is join them. Our sensible option would have been to enter Cambodia at a slower pace and then take a week or so to work our way around to Siem Reap, but we decided that we wanted to be at Angkor Wat for Christmas day and so the mission was on for us all.

The first challenge was the border crossing. The southern Laos border has, until recently, been closed. The latest Lonely Planet edition makes no mention of being able to get through at this point. However, the enterprising Laotians have realised that opening the border here will exponentially increase the tourists coming down to the 4000 Islands region. The effect is to turn this quiet backwater section of the Mekong, seen by only the completist, to a bustling Western haven for those crossing into Cambodia.

Bustling is good for money but what damage will it do to the area?

The private bus companies are all for this change and many deals have sprung up for easy transport to Cambodian cities. We chose to take a bus at $20 a head. It started with a boat ride out of the water locked islands followed by multiple small 12-seater transports to the border. The border guards inspected our Laos Visa’s and entry cards and penalised all who had lost them (the vast majority of the Vang Vieng Crowd), then they pointed out down a simple road to Cambodia. As Cesca and I walked I could not help but imagine snipers watching our every move, and so we danced across the line “Morecambe & Wise style”, just to show them.

On the other side we were ushered into a more transports and then onto a larger bus. The usual frauds were in operation about changing currency, which involves a confidence trick in convincing you that any Laotian currency cannot be changed anywhere else on your trip. This is, of course, rubbish and the rate being offered is very bad. However, the rate all over Cambodia is bad and the best idea is to change all your Kip to US Dollars before entering Cambodia at all. The real journey then began in earnest. The north east of Cambodia is perhaps the most un-touristed area, and for us it was passing by in flashes out the window. Trekking is available here, but like in all of this war ravaged country, stepping off the path can be deadly.

We arrived that night in the darkness of the capital. There are very few times that I allow a tout to select my hotel for me but this was one of them, as we had no idea where about we were. The hotel was actually quite good and obviously had a large crowd of tourists staying. We crashed out and awaited the next day.

The next day came with an unwelcome change of bus. This new bus was stacked with wood. That is to say, the entire inside of the bus, under every chair and in every nook and cranny, were large planks of wood that had been stacked and were taking up all the room. For a tall man this made the journey even more distressing. Now the bus plied its way up the western side of Cambodia towards our final destination.

All busses make stops, but the stop here was one I will not forget.

Spiderville is very well named. The bus stopped and we all piled off to stretch our legs. I was quite sleepy and did not take a clear look at the food items proffered by the lady tout sitting outside. It was only when my mind grabbed my eyes and fixed them onto the thing crawling on the young lady’s arm that I realised she was selling deep-fried Tarantulas.

Tarantulas comprise a group of hairy and often very large spiders belonging mainly to the family Theraphosidae, of which approximately 900 species have been identified. Historically tarantulas were the bigger genera from the family Lycosidae (like Lycosa tarantula) WIKIPEDIA

And that one had obviously escaped:

She saw my eyes widen, “You want spider?” She said while pulling the arachnid back into place as it tried to scamper up her top. She then pulled it off and offered it to me, legs a-wiggling.

“Err, no. No thanks very much, I am fine,” I managed to say backing away slightly.

The girl was sitting down on a bucket, which I thought was only her chair.

It was not.

She took my hesitance to mean that I did not want this particular spider and so she stood up from the bucket and showed me her selection inside. Twenty of the monsters were all tumbling over each other to be my deep fried food choice.

“Bwahhhh,” was an accurate translation of my reply and I quickly moved on.

The next girl was selling deep fried spiders too and had a pile of paprika coloured crawlers on a tray on her head.

After a few further spiders sellers I was able to purchase a Coke and make my way back onto the bus. A few brave souls bought one to eat and a large offering was passed around the bus. Lenin, our travelling companion, tried a leg but I passed it on:

“Sorry, I’m trying to cut down…”

The one where Basho is offered spider for breakfast in Thailand

We were driven to a staging area and then picked up by our guide and a local villager. He arrayed us with water and then we were off into the jungle. Trekking is something Cesca and I love. It gets you out of not only your comfort zone, but out of your mental map of yourself. You are immersed in the sights and sounds of the trek and have plenty of time to think. This was real trekking. The villager spoke almost no English, but our ever-helpful guide translated splendidly. The jungle was all around us and I could not see that we were following any sort of recognisable path through it. After a while, the villager cut us down some bamboo and fashioned us some walking sticks, something that really helped. We crossed swelling rivers, went up and down rocky slopes, through valleys, up hills and everywhere the jungle was all around. No signs of human life. I really felt that we were really in the mix. Of course, we were probably only a thick bush away from Starbucks, but it felt real. What also felt real was at one point we were crossing this giant fallen log, using it as a bridge over a massive drop, when the villager and guide both froze. In front of us was an enormous snake that spotted us and slithered into the undergrowth. It was about 5 feet long and looked to me like some sort of pit Viper with its arrow like head and hissing out a warning to us. It disappeared and our hearts stopped hammering in our chests. Relieved and laughing a little we all continued.

About 7 hours later, we came to a stream. There the villager stopped and made some cups from bamboo (I still have mine). Into these, he poured some local firewater and we drank each other’s health. It was strong stuff and that is putting it mildly. He then led us onwards and out of the jungle into pastures. Through these and onwards to a small purpose built wooden village.

This was arrayed with bamboo huts into which we deposited our gear. To wash we went down to the river and washed standing in the freezing waters. Not the safest thing I have ever done, but I was at least clean.

Then we went and helped with dinner. Other villagers arrived and one man played a strange stringed instrument as we helped prepare the food. Wok cooking is a favourite of mine and we soon got stuck in frying all the various dishes. Dinner was wonderful and as the night drew in, we went to bed in our hut, idly wondering about Spiders and bed bugs.

The next morning, we were up and at them at an ungodly hour. I am not the most morning orientated of people and struggle to wake up. This morning, they had what must be the ultimate way of sobering me up but not in a good way. The guide called me over to a mud bank where the villager was violently digging out a hole in the ground. It looked vaguely familiar.

“What is he doing?” I asked.

There followed a rattling conversation in the local dialect, which is a little bit Thai and a little bit something else.

“The guide turned to me and motioned the hole, “He finding you spider.”

“Spider!” I exclaimed.

“You say last night, you like spider, so he find you one.”

My recollection had been that I had indicated a certain level of reluctance on the part of spiders in my room. Quite how this turned into me wanting to see one was lost to me. However, before I could stop him the violent digging halted and the villager was now poking a slim stick into the hole.

I was fascinated to see how he flicked the stick in a certain way and ground it around the hole, but I could not see into it myself. Suddenly he cried out and jumped back as an enormous and very angry spider came out of the hole.

Spiders are naturally nocturnal and this big fella’ had been woken from his morning slumbers by someone knocking down his home and dragging him out by force. He reared up and waved his legs menacingly.

I instinctively took a step back. He was huge and black and about the size of Cesca’s hand. I would bet that he was some sort of Tarantula, but I don’t know. The villager was not so hampered by fear and he pushed the stick under the beast and flicked it up and out of the hole, onto the bank. The spider made a dash for it, but the villager was ready and it reared again. Fangs the size and shape of clipped toe nails juddered as he tried to scare us off. The Villager was having none of it and with a very deft and practiced movement, he slapped the stick down on the spiders back and pinned it to the floor. He then rushed up the stick and grabbed the spider from the back holding it down. He then gripped it in a certain way, obviously some sort of spider jujutsu hold, and lifted it up in his hand. The spider was totally in his control. Satisfied, he smiled, walked over and thrust the struggling giant arachnid in my face.

“You touch, please” said the guide. Gingerly I reached out. “Not there! He bites you. Leg.” My hand froze and I adjusted my aim. I felt one of the large footpads. It was amazingly soft and not all spiky. Kind of like rough felt or a good shag carpet. “Now you,” he said indicating that Cesca should also stroke the struggling arachnid. Gingerly she put forwards a hand but the waving legs meant that she closed her eyes as she did so.

“That’s his balls you’re holding,” I pointed out.

She yelped and opened her eyes; sure enough, she was groping the poor creature’s spinnerets. “Urrg!” she exclaimed.

The villager smiled, laughed, and put the spider down on the ground. The spider obviously did not quite know what to make of all this and eventually decided to make a run for it, possibly to call a constable and report being molested. The villager rattled off something in his local language, which the guide translated for us.

“He say, you lucky his father not guide today. He eat spider.”

Both Cesca and I made the same face of disgust.

“What, raw?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Can we have something else for breakfast?”

“Yes, come, fruit ready.”

Epilogue

So, there you have them. In one year away, you are always going to get involved with things that are outside your comfort zones, but for me these five encounters have had a big effect on my life. I’m not talking about my fear of spiders, that is still the same and I still kill rather than capture rogue spiders in my house, instead I am talking about some of the wonderful people in these stories. Franco, Lenin, Bobbits, The villager, the lady outside the bus, these are the things that I will remember. These are the things I cherish.

Don’t stay at home just because you may have to face something that terrifies you. As you have read, I came close to some of the most dangerous spiders in the world and didn’t get bitten, they are not creatures to be feared. Rather they should be admired. Up close, the world’s spiders are really quite amazing. They are almost, and I hesitate to suggest this, quite beautiful. The wonder of nature is that this small and intelligent creature has been around the Earth for millions of years. They have been our eight legged companion for a thousand generations, and they will be with us on this journey for a thousand more.

Just, hopefully, not attached to my testicles next time.

Regards,

Basho

Spend any time in Laos and it quickly becomes clear that tourism has the potential to ravage this beautiful culture. Travelling through the Laotian hubs is to see history in action. Starting with Luang Prabang; the epitome of French colonialism, forever been preserved for the future by UNESCO. Then comes the hedonistic delights of Vang Vieng; embracing wholeheartedly the wanton desires ‘twix tourism and Bacchus.  Confident and casual Vientiane is a capital that strives for progress and modernisation and yet has a totally inherited European attitude; all relaxation and good food. Southern city Pakse is the strange child.  It appears untouched by the 21th century and is rooted in the 1980’s.

Here is our journey…

Luang Prabang – UNESCO

Nestled beside the now golden river of the Mekgong, with temples scattered over the surrounding hills, Luang Prabang is an idyllic setting. Arrival at sunset is beautifully romantic and melts the heart of even the most hardened of travellers. As we disembarked up the river bank towards town the warm low-light danced around us. The air was thick with tuk-tuk drivers laid in-wait.  With 7 of us in our travelling group we had bargaining power on our side and Bobbits slickly negotiated a driver for the hostel trawl.  J&I had pre-booked a room and so the troop piled into the guesthouse opposite.

The beauty of Luang Prabang

We honestly fell in love with this place almost instantly. Laotians are very warm, friendly people and much more relaxed than their somewhat pushy neighbours. This relaxed vibe is so easy to slip into with the grand ex-colonial houses adorning the streets, which infuse each new turn with beauty, character and charm. I’m happy to report that the UN shares this view and has protected it from the ravages of modernisation by adding it to the World Heritage List thereby protecting its charms.

The city is based around a large Buddhist temple atop a hill in the centre.  It has a richer, more classic area at one end of town, which is filled with some amazing and ancient temples.  This then gives way to two streets adjoining this lush area to the more down market west end.  One street runs through town and is lined wall to wall with shops and travel agents of all types.  Some of these shops are very high end and charge accordingly, where as others offer more basic fare, with the night market being at the far west end holding all the bargains.

The other street follows the eastern curve of the river and is made up, mostly, of bars and western gift shops.  It was on this street that we found the excellent Kop Noi fairtrade shop and its counterpart bookshop/cafe of L’ettrager.  The European influence of this area is vivid and it could quite easily be a continental riverside from anywhere in the union.  Once past these streets you are into the main accommodation areas, still nice, with large buildings full of character and gentile sophistication.  It was here that we stayed and all in all were very happy with the room.

One of the main attractions, apart from the alms and the river, is the ancient temple.  This has a small cost to enter, but the money was well spent.  The temple is a majestically old building that exudes an ancient character all of its own.  The architectural style of the Laos branch of Buddhist temple building is very peaceful.  Darker and more Japanese almost in its colour choices, the temple belies the bright and garish colours of its Thailand and Malaysian cousins.  Aside the main hall is a number of other buildings.  One contained the remains of hundred-year old Buddhist icons, statues and paraphernalia, all in an advanced state of decay.

The upshot was that walking around here made one feel the hand of history most clearly and the half faded, broken faces of the Buddha statues made for eerie but moving images.  The main building itself is painted all over with gold figures in outline.  The sight of these shining in the sunlight, passing through slotted windows framed in wooden relief, made for some of the most memorable photos from my entire time in Laos.

We spent a good hour in the main hall finding all the interesting angles to shoot all this from and not ignoring the gigantic statue of the man himself in the centre of it all.  Recommended!

By day street vendors tempt you with Laotian delicacies like ‘meat on a stick’, sugarcane juice, fresh coconuts and for the less adventurous; French baguettes filled with ‘La Vache Qui Rie’ or Nutella. Nightly, the market comes to life full of accessories and ornaments galore. All this is crowned off by the seduction of the life by the river.

I could have stopped here forever.

Night market and the famous Laos T-Shirts (shame none fitted J or he would have bought 10)

Part of my journey through Asia has been taken up with learning about Buddhism. It was therefore a real pleasure to see the Monks here wandering between their many temples in town and the surrounding hills. Their simple, beautiful robes of rich orange cotton adds a vibrancy to life and its daily rituals. Each morning, just before dawn breaks through the darkness, alms are collected by monks in exchange for a daily blessing. Monks process along the pavements to greet kneeling devotees for a blessing. For me this was a beautiful moment to admire the devotion of these people and think of the gift that Buddha bestowed upon everyone by showing us the path to enlightenment.

Three of the team await the monks in the cold / The Buddhist path – Alms at dawn

Alms traditionally constitutes the gift of uncooked rice that is then cooked by the temple chef. Buying cooked rice from dawn street sellers is discouraged due to the quality of their provisions. Better to buy uncooked rice in advance from the local market. It is worth remembering that Monks are generally vegetarian when selecting your provisions. It is not respectful to be higher than a monk and look down on them, so it usually pays to follow others by adopting the kneeling position.

Anyone wanting to participate in alms-giving should take careful consideration to respect this sacred proceeding. Ensure you remain at a respectful distance when taking photographs especially when using flash photography. I chose to stay on the opposite pavement and use my zoom despite the limitations this brought to my photography. I was saddened to witness many onlookers make no such consideration as hoards of cameras encircled like vultures around the processing monks. This was distasteful to the monks, the alms-givers and others forced to watch. I wish people would consider putting any self-interest aside in this moment.

During our time here Tony got his doctors position in Byron Bay Australia, Galloway nearly blew his weeks’ budget on a single frosted Duvel, and we were fortunate enough to stumble upon an all-night temple party!

The temple party – the only photo taken

The temple party was a big event with Laotian and western music passionately played to a mixed audience dancing in front of the temple. The Laotian way is to dance only to Laotian music and to empty the dance floor at the end of each song.  This made for an interesting vibe with the ‘half-cut’ foreigners dancing to everything no matter how bad it seemed to our western ears! After a few hours of jumping around we joined a large gathering of candle bearing Laotians and proceeded through town and back to the temple to pray and see a fireworks display.

Venturing out of town we enjoyed jumping in for a swim at the local waterfall and caught a glimpse of a few brown bears.

A quick swim and then a dangerous climb

We then climbed to the top of the falls for fantastic views of the valley. Back on the low ground we viewed the countryside from a tuk-tuk and got a real sense of daily life. Farming is still the primary occupation with ploughing done by water-buffalo and elephants used for logging. Children smiled and waved from their shell-like homes as we whizzed by.

It was hard to know where to begin to help

Vang Vieng – tubing and party central

Having begun with a cultural and very beautiful entrance into Laos it was now decision time. The question lay ahead, “do we follow our new found crazy friends to debauched Vang Vieng or follow the educational path to the Plain of Jars?” After much deliberation about whether we were too old for tubing we decided, “You’re only as old as you feel,” and headed to Vang Vieng.

Above the clouds journey to Vang Veing

Vang Vieng is essentially a party town for young travellers who love nothing better than to get battered and recover watching endless back-to-back episodes of ‘Friends’ while slumped on a couch in any of the central restaurants. For ‘Team Galloway’ this was heaven. Enthusiastically they arrived the day before the rest of us who decided Luang Prabang deserved us to ‘Stay Another Day’. The coach journey was long and very beautiful above the clouds, though the undisputed highlight was seeing a King Cobra on the road (thankfully from inside the coach). J saw it through the window and it then reared up to its full height.  Everyone on that side of the coach went wild with excitement- it was a massive snake. Only five minutes previously our group had stopped for a pee break with some people venturing into the undergrowth!

On our arrival Colin was as excited as a jack rabbit and instantly jumped at the invitation from some random fellow Irishmen to go tubing immediately. We, however, settled into sunbathing on platforms over the river; periodically jumping in for a dip between games of cards and mojitos.

Bliss.

The view of the steep caste-shaped mountains created a wonderful backdrop and the sun glistened on the water.

Riverside fun

That evening our Spanish contingent (Mariluz and Mariona) were getting increasingly concerned about Colin’s whereabouts. The Irishman had gone off without a word to them and they were not happy as it was now dark. As we discussed his disappearance Colin’s new-found Irish buddy arrived at the table and delivered to us Colin’s wallet and personal effects. Now nothing could calm or reassure Mariluz and the girls departed to check his room again for any signs of his return. With that Colin was spotted stumbling up the street. I have not seen someone so messed up in a long while.  Sporting only Bermuda shorts his torso was covered in red drawings and his legs were torn to shreds.

We hollered to him, “How was tubing?”

“It’s the best fun I’ve EVER had EVER and I’m not joking!” Was his reply.

There is nothing funnier than a battered Irishman!

From there on in the night was a done deal, Colin was just too far gone to understand anything of the worry he caused and Mariluz couldn’t help but laugh at the state of him. We all decided to cut him no slack and went out drinking and dancing all night.

We decided to join in the fun

As morning dawned it was the rest of the group’s turn for tubing.

The definition of tubing is the strapping of oneself into a lorry inner-tube and floating down the river like a horde of misdirected ducks.  Laotian tubing is nothing like this at all.  The tubing part is really only used to get across the river from one outrageous bucket-bar to another. At these makeshift mud banked bars, drinks only come it buckets with added M150 (super Red Bull). After the first bar we were plunging into the river from swings and wrestling in mud pools between dancing like crazy-things and it lasted all day long. Mariluz demonstrated how to get really quite drunk the redress the balance with Colin.

J, of course, took a waterproof video camera and later made a YouTube of the day which is here:

It really took us a few days to recover down by the river, and there was hardly a wrench strong enough to prise us out of our hammocks, but eventually we moved on.

Vientiane – The Capital

Vientiane has a charm about it that grows on you quickly and belies its nature as a third-world capital city. Vientiane’s old quarter oozes with post-colonial charm and is home to some of the most beautiful and oldest Buddhist temples. It is also easy to get sucked into the relaxed European-style cafe culture; popping out for a long brunch of croissants and excellent Laotian coffee, sightseeing by bicycle in the afternoons and enjoying a delicious evening meal of crispy spring rolls, morning glory and Mekong fish wrapped in banana leaves by the river at sunset.

The river view / a fish supper! / Biking around town

There is no shortage of fun and different things to do here.  Having melted for the best part of two months in Asia it was finally time to don our bathing suits again and go to a water park. Have you ever been to a water park where there were no queue for any of the water slides?

We have.

In fact we had the whole park to ourselves as although it was over 30 degrees in Laos it was still winter!

Vientiane’s water park would probably be closed down in Europe due to EU safety regulations. None-the-less, foam mats securely beneath us, arms firmly bent and legs straightened we launched ourselves down slides and dark twisted tubes into the waters below.  This was topped off with some sunbathing and a delicious Turkish lunch.

The lovely nightlife of the capital

I felt ready again for a night’s antics and the cry went up to find a nightclub.  Clubbing and Laos are not something that naturally mix.  The Laotians notion of dancing is incredibly reserved and akin to line dancing. Thus, our team’s attempts to find a real nightclub induced some very funny moments including being driven halfway across the city only to find, whilst standing bemused in an empty hotel car park, that the nightclub was inside the hotel and didn’t open until the wee hours. Embarrassed we took the drivers recommendation of where to go next and wound up in a line-dancing hostess bar, where the waiter insisted on pouring our beers into glasses and Lenin got an all-male shoulder massage in the gents! Finally after one beer, and a quick line-dance, we departed.

We finally found a solitary bar with the sign of the bat on the door.  This place was a last resort but was playing some great live music, including a brilliant rendition of Pink Floyd.

The next day, J and I explored the city by bike.  Biking in Laos was not the smartest thing we ever did, as the roads are madness, but we enjoyed visiting the amazing temples and sights of the capital at our own pace.

Capital delights and a great break from the norm

Our final stop in the capital was to visit the inspiring and amazing MAG (Mines Action Group) and COPE.  These two are covered in other blog entries, but I cannot stress enough the brilliant work they do for this wonderful country.

Pakse – southern regional town

Initially chosen as a stop-over on our way through to the 4,000 Islands we ended up here for four days.

As we waited for our pickup for the night-bus to Pakse, Bobbits and Lenin came to see us off. Little did we know they were planning a ruse. As we said our goodbyes they launched their surprise by announcing that they were coming with us! Sadly though events conspired against us and we ended up on separate buses!

The night-bus was a nightmare.

J and I squeezed ourselves into the ‘double’ bed with feet dangling into the aisle and my face pressed against the window. Moving was not an option. Topping off the physical torture was the ear-bursting cacophony of Laotian music screeching out at full blast from the bus TV. God-bless ear-plugs and eye-masks.

Smiling through adversity on the night bus to Pakse

We arrived at dawn in Pakse in need of a good nights sleep and a chiropractor! It took several hours waiting to secure ourselves a very basic room in a nice hostel, sorted. Rooms, we found out, were like gold dust; unbeknown to us the Laos Games (their version of the Olympic Games) was being held here and the following night was the Opening Ceremony. As it turned out our friends had skipped town and gone straight to the 4,000 Islands. In all honestly we felt a little cheated and jealous at the news, but soon events turned back in our favour.

Next afternoon ‘Team Galloway’ arrived in town after a disastrous journey via Savannahket (involving a small bus fire!) The Opening Ceremony was today and absolutely every room was full. We helped as much as we could, but eventually advised them to skip town and head onwards to Champasak. Begrudgingly they clambered into another tuk-tuk. Without a word uttered between them, we waved them goodbye.

That was the last we saw of them, until we met in Bangkok 2 months later!

That night J was very unwell and so I watched the celebrations complete with parachutists, traditional performances and fireworks exploding into the nights sky, without him; only accompanied by some locals. We later learned that some people ended up sleeping in temples that night, so bad was rooms’ situation in town.

Opening ceremony fireworks at the Laos Games

The next day, as we planned our escape to the islands, Bobbits and Lenin sent us a message, “We’re coming back up to Pakse tonight as there are no ATMs down here!”

How we laughed!

We fixed them up some gold-dust rooms (now a few had come available) and they arrived the next morning.  So on our final night here we partied hard at the local funfair.

We were more bouncy than the bouncy castle and more dodgy than the dodgems. After the obligatory ‘meat-on-a-stick’ dinner our Pakse adventures were complete and the 4,000 islands were yet to come!

From here we had one last adventure on the Mekong before departing for Cambodia. For this please see my post on Laos PDR – Mekong Meanderings.

Regards,

Cesca

“Life is a musical thing and you’re supposed to sing or dance along the way.” Alan Watts

Our thanks go out to; Bobbits (Lauren), Lenin (Tony) and ‘Team Gallway’; Colin “The Best Fun I’ve Ever Had Ever And I’m Not Joking” McGrath, Mariluz (Mari-looser) and Mariona (Mari-winner) for all the fun and craziness.

Journey’s beginning

Staying at a lovely riverside guesthouse in Chiang Khong we gazed over the Mekong River from Thailand into Laos. The mysterious and magical landscape of undulating hills lit by moonlight sparked our imaginations about what wonders we might find beyond this watery boundary.

It is not hard to visualise the beauty to behold in Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia or Vietnam since endless talented photographers have splashed rich imagery of paddy fields, palm trees and colourful textiles across countless books and magazine spreads. Laos, however, was not so vividly known to us through image or article and so retained an mystery about its landscape, people and culture. Having spent only a few weeks over-landing through Singapore, Malaysia and Northern Thailand it was difficult to anticipate how Laos would differ from our initially brief SEA experience. Though genuinely a little wary of stepping into this unknown territory and with only a sketchy plan for a two day trip down the Mekong River we threw caution to the wind and ventured forth into Laos.

The entire guesthouse rose early, happy and excited. Gifted with lunch packs, water bottles and cushions for the wooden seats of the slow boat we all loaded into the back of a pickup with luggage pilled high between us. At this moment fate played a hand and this truck load of people became our travel companions for the entirety of our Laos experience and we soon became ‘friends beyond borders’.

Crossing into Laos – visa on arrival

With little fuss this amazingly simple task was executed at the small visa-on-arrival and passport office by at the riverside. All that was required were a passport and mug shot each and the requested amount of local currency. With protocol completed we transferred quickly by tuk-tuk to the boat departure point a little downstream. Great swathes of tourists amassed and were summarily gouged for refreshments by local newsagents. However the cafe atmosphere was bathed in early morning sun which did much to relax everyone and precipitate chatting.

All passports had to be verified by the police here so unnervingly we all handed our passports over to our guide, not something that ever comes easily to someone on foreign soil. The only comfort was the number of tourists ‘in the same boat’ so to speak! We waited anxiously for their safe return as the guides casually wandered around grasping stacks of passports.

Passport collection beside the Mekong River!

In due course we herded down the rucksack strewn boat ramp and joined the throngs of tourists queuing to board. I have learnt that waiting and queuing are part and parcel of travelling and therefore should be calmly accepted, within reason. I quickly learnt that you can never predict what your actual journey will entail only that you will get to your destination eventually, hopefully in the near future, and generally all the richer for the experience. Time duly passed and with no progress being made I had a feeling we were now probably ‘on Laos time’. Slightly bemused by the delay, but patiently English about queuing we all waited. Old habits die hard!

Slowly tongues started wagging and it became clear that this was in fact a protest! Tourist were voting with their feet to force a second slow-boat to be provided rather than cramming us all onto one. As was had tickets for the currently empty boat we made a run for it, the best you can with a 23kg backpack and the rest! It was worth the energy expenditure as we secured ourselves the few padded car seats at the back so no sore bums or cushions required for us!

Along the Mekong River – Day 1

The impressively long Mekong River flows from the mountains of China through Thailand before entering Northern Laos where it follows closely to the Western boarder all the way to the 4,000 islands in the South before flowing into Cambodia and through the Mekong Delta in Southern Vietnam, exiting into the South China Sea.

Life on the river

Crammed with tourists and a sprinkling of friendly locals the slow boat became a lively place. We had such fun sharing food with the Laotians and gesticulating to overcome the large language barrier. At the back of the boat the motor was particularly loud and smelly even though a mountain of luggage muffled some of the machinery. The noise did not prevent the ebb and flow of chatter though or the inevitable drift of passengers in and out of consciousness as the countless hills slowly blended together and silently slipped by.

Travelling on the river provides an idyllic window into the beautifully untouched landscape and tribal culture of rural Laos. Children play on small but perfectly formed stretches of white sand dotted along the river bank. Fishing rods glisten as they dip into the fast waters is search of a bite from a hungry Mekong Fish. Communities of simple huts perch on hillsides surrounded by breathtaking views and bountiful indigenous forest. People may look on their lives as poor by western standards, but I think wealth is relative. These people to me are richer in life than all those who chase only financial wealth as a route to happiness.

Overnight in Pak Beng

Though the days travel had brought with it new found friends and a glimpse into the treasures of Laos, as the sun set I felt more than ready to disembark for the night. Blessed with a constant flow of tourists onto its banks every evening Pak Beng has seemingly won the lottery from a prosperity point of view. Never-the-less this small town lacks any panache that would normally be associated with such a place and instead of becoming a tourist haven it has become a conman’s one. Scams are rife and illegal drugs too.

Changing light at Pak Beng

Secure in the knowledge of the potential pitfalls ‘our mob’ quickly negotiated accommodation up the hill. Funnily enough, but not at all surprisingly, on our arrival at the guesthouse the price had suddenly increased! We quickly quashed this firmly by sticking to our agreed price. Eventually they kept to their word. That night we celebrated Mariluz’s birthday with dinner overlooking the river. To my great amusement ‘happy meals’ were on the menu which were summarily declined by the entire party. Knowing the sever penalties for drug taking in these parts you would be a fool to indulge. Despite our hosts suspicious nature and frequent room inspections ‘Bob Marley’ did not make any appearance that night. We gave our time over to having a great laugh with plenty of drinking, smoking, card playing (and nudity in parts)!

Along the Mekong River – Day 2

Despite the antics we rose early to secure good seats again as the Lonely Planet advised. Dragging ourselves into the vertical position, despite the inevitable hangovers, was not fun. Though further torture was to come when we were subjected to watching and waiting for the slowest sandwich-maker in history make our lunch. A dose of strong Laos coffee was administered and we finally left this grotty place and headed down to the boat for 7am. Our effort was again rewarded as we secured the only comfortable seats onboard. Happy days. Now we slipped into our seats and slowly woke up whilst on the river itself (though for some the bobbing up and down was not ideal!). As others scrambled to get a wooden seat and stow their cumbersome rucksacks, I was happy to photographically exploit the ‘golden hours’. We departed around 8am.

The scenery started out much the same on day two so alternative entertainment was gleaned from books, iPods, cameras, playing cards and chit chat as others plugged in their earplugs to drown out the increased background noise. Periodically we could hear the determined negotiations of disgruntled passengers who’d been short-changed by the greedy onboard shop assistant. As the day slipped by and hangovers subsided our smiles reappeared. Dusk arrived and so did we in Luang Prabang.

James follows the backpacker trail into Luang Prabang

Overall our group all enjoyed the Mekong trip and I would recommend it. I believe there are more luxurious places to stay on the Mekong, but obviously this is relative to your budget and not ours! My suggestions for maximising enjoyment is arriving early to secure a good seat (photographically and shelter from the sun), bringing food and water provisions onboard, a cushion and lots of entertainment and perhaps a hangover cure or sea-sickness pills for day 2!

*See the next post for our time in Luang Prabang and journey south through Laos.*

Journey’s end – The 4,000 Islands

As our month in Laos came to a close we happily came back to the Mekong River for another dose of fun and relaxation to round off the trip. Festooned throughout the southern meanderings of the Mekong River are many beautiful and largely untouched islands of varying sizes; some large enough to support villages, temples and tourists too.

Taking up our friends’ recommendation we first stopped off for some quiet time before rejoining the group on another island. Though we were having a blast travelling en mass, it was good to have some ‘Mummy and Daddy time’ too! The minivan from Pakse dropped us at the riverside where a local boatman took us over to our guesthouse on the island shore opposite. He gave such a good sales pitch for his river boat tours using good English and a non pushy tone that we booked his services for our trip downstream in a couple of days.

Don Khong is a relatively large island though easily explorable by bike. With a wonderfully peaceful vibe it is easy to tap into the relaxed pace of island life. Life here is simple with farming as the source of sustainability. Villages formed of raised wooden houses dot the landscape, though these villagers are surprisingly well connected with the outside world through satellite and the internet!

Free to roam the island or cyberspace

We enjoyed the simple life here. Cycling about amongst the rice paddies watching water-buffalo wading and grazing in the heat of the day, exploring local villages and dining at the waters edge. Romantic.

Life in the river

Travelling down river here was a special experience. Much less touristy than the northern Mekong and with many more villages draped down to the waters edge you get to see a rich tapestry of life on the river. Fishing boats and nets festoon the riverbank, small allotments grow well next to the waterside, clothes and people wash in the river and water buffalo roam free. Traditional boats navigate up and downstream transporting villagers too and fro and sometimes Monks who cover their faces from the unrepentant spray.

Our destination was the sunrise side of Don Dhet. This is the place to swing lazily in a hammock on a private balcony of your own bamboo bungalow overlooking the Mekong, or so we thought. My description is in essence true only the huts were more basic than anyone could imagine. There was finesse about this wooden bed box with no door handle and a trunk style latch with small padlock for security. The string hammock was very uncomfortable for anything over a few minutes and the facilities were a dark cold shower and squat toilet in a tin and breezeblock construction across the path beside the owners home. Still for two quid a night who’s complaining and our friends were here!

Sunrise over our bungalow and cocktails at sunset

For a while we had fun staying within the village setting, one night splashing out and enjoying a simply delicious Belgium meal at the Sunset Restaurant, though after a few days this corridoresque living arrangement became very claustrophobic and we moved on.

Don Khone was to be our last destination in Laos and it was much more our scene and my favourite island. Here the accommodation was more integrated into village life, rather than taking over from it. Locals played badminton at our guesthouse in the afternoons, school children road bikes to and from school, monks collected alms and cats, dogs, chickens and water-buffalo all roamed freely. Tourists here do not out-number locals. Perfect.

We hired bikes again and rode to the local beach to catch some rays. The bikes were really decrepit and though I started with one brake I soon had none! Lenin’s chain kept coming off and Bobbits bike was just as crazy as she. Still we managed to cycle there and back along the sand pathways, via an impressive waterfall, with no major traumas and above all had fun. I wouldn’t recommend taking the trip to see the larger waterfall from here though, although impressive the trip to the mainland is long and it was a major tourist trap which made it rather unpleasant to hang around.

From here we made the long trip across to Siem Reap in Cambodia, via Phnom Penh. While only $19 by bus it is a journey not for the travel weary, but a necessary evil to spend our last days with our buddies and celebrate Christmas at Angkor Wat! We literally danced across the border hand in hand and gave Laos one last longing look and our journey here was complete. We still miss Laos and would go back in a heartbeat!

Cesca

Journeying into Laos with like-minded travellers enabled us to delve deeply into the history and heart of Laos both through our shared experiences and many discussions. We shared our discovery of a country that exudes a wonderful cocktail of scenery, emotions and memorable experiences and our horror at the unveiling of the very real tragedy lived out here. For many hours we discussed and agonised about the plight of Laos and its future.

For the most part though Laos still remains off travellers’ radar. Westerners are often asking us, “Where exactly is Laos?”  Well, for those who don’t know or are not yet plugged in, Laos is an extremely beautiful country in the middle of South East Asia that is landlocked by China to the North, Vietnam to the East, Cambodia to the South and Thailand to the West. 

Initially a French colony until WWII the French imperialist fingerprint has been firmly impressed into Laos culture and is particularly evident today in the architecture and cuisine.

Laos History – struggles behind smiles

To truly understand Laos first you must understand the events that shaped it into the country it is today.

Sitting Buddha destroyed by the bombing

Geographic location has played a strong role in the history of Laos initially attracting the French for mineral and monetary wealth. Subsequently though the Eastern mountainous jungle terrain provided the ideal Viet Cong route for the supply of people and weapons from Russia to Vietnam during the Vietnam/American War. This “Secret War” as it was known, was in reality an intense carpet bombing campaign along the length of Laos in order to disable this supply chain known as the “Ho Chi Minh Trail”. Americans fought for democracy on behalf of the Laos Government alongside Hmong tribes people against the Communist ideals of the Viet Cong and Northern Pathet Lao. As the Vietnam/American War came to an end and the communists in Vietnam took power so did the Pathet Lao. Laos became Laos PDR (Peoples Democratic Republic) which welcomes democratic ideals in name only (it has only one political party) and courts the trappings of international wealth through tourism, but underneath holds communist ideals at its core.

Now three decades after the war has ended, it horrified me to learn that unexploded ordinance still litters the countryside inflicting untold devastation on civilians and severely limiting economic progress. There is a small exhibition at MAG in Vientiane, showing the extent of the bombing and the work undertaken to clear the ordinance. It is truly daunting and heartbreaking to see the sea of red dots on the map below represents all unexploded ordinance still in Laos.

Carpet bombing of Laos

For Laotians being surrounded by bombs and the devastation they cause has become a normal part of life. Lives are continually shattered by people just trying to make a living. Parents are regularly killed or maimed and families ruined by ordinance buried in the farmland. Despite the dangers children are driven by poverty to risk life and limb to collect scrap metal from these, often live, bombs and bombies (cluster bombs) for which they get paid a pittance. The courage Laotians show in the face of such danger amazes me, particularly those who have lost lives, loved ones or limbs at the hands of these explosive devices.

We are certainly not the first people to have been emotionally moved by the plight those living in bomb infested countries. The enormity of the task ahead in Laos renders many with a feeling of helplessness alongside a strong motivation to do all you can to help, however, small it may appear. As part of our ongoing support we would like to voice our whole-heartedly support of the many amazing people who continue to work tirelessly to improve the lives of those affected by the bombs.

Firstly our praises go out to the men and women at MAG (Mines Action Group) who should be awarded the highest recognised for their dangerous work locating, defusing and disposing of unexploded ordinance. Teams of bomb experts risk their own lives daily to make a safe environment for the people of Laos. They plan to have cleared all ordinance in here by 2012.

MAG all-female team move a bomb prior to demolition

Munitions deactivated by MAG

Secondly, to the people at COPE who fit artificial limbs, provide physiotherapy, psychotherapy and open doors to enable those who have lost a family members or been maimed by a bomb to find work and rebuild their lives. I feel honoured to have met a few of these amazingly brave people and my hope is that life becomes brighter, safer and more prosperous for them.

   

The amazing exhibition at COPE

To get the full picture of the continued affect of the war we highly recommend the extremely informative and exceptionally emotional exhibition at COPE, in Vientiane, that fully explains the severity and effects of the bombing and runs a selection of films showing the impact of the bombing and honouring the tireless work being done to disarm these bombs. (See also Basho’s post on “The American War”)

Laos Heart – Stay Another Day http://www.stayanotherday.org/

Luckily for us we discovered ‘Stay Another Day’ soon after arriving in Laos. Covering IndoChina this not-for-profit organisation produces insightful books, and in the case of Laos an exhibition too, highlighting “destination friendly” tourism projects to encourage people to get under the skin of the country and support the local community.

This book gave us great insight into many local enterprises initiated to help people help themselves out of poverty and enable them to lead a better quality of life. This also allowed us to focus our energies and spending power in support of Laotian people in a beneficial way. There are many enterprises throughout the country, but shown below are the places we visited and are in support of…

In Luang Prabang:

  

Kopnoi (clothing), L’Etranger (books) and Tamarind (local food and cooking lessons!)

In Vientiane:

Big Brother Mouse (children’s books), MAG (Mines Advisory Group) and COPE (prosthetics)

Our complete list of places we chose to visit and show our support for:

• Big Brother Mouse – Laos books for Laos readers http://www.bigbrothermouse.com/index.html
• COPE – Co-operative Orthotic & Prosthetic Enterprise http://www.copelaos.org/
• MAG – Mines Advisory Group http://www.maginternational.org/
• Mulberries – http://www.laosilkandcraft.com/gallery_teas.htm
• Kopnoi – Fair Trade clothes made in Laos http://www.kopnoi.com/
• L’Etranger – Book shop plus cafe that buys/sells/trades/rents books http://www.stayanotherday.org/project/L_Etranger/introduction
• Tamarind – A taste of real Laos cuisine http://www.tamarindlaos.com/
• CAMACRAFTS – Non-profit org, handicrafts made by Lao artisans http://www.laosilkandcraft.com/camacrafts.htm

I hope this article goes some way to educating and empowering future visitors to this special place and encourages them to be sensitive and understanding whilst visiting this fragile country. Should you choose to visit please don’t take Laos for granted. Laotians still have a wonderfully inviting innocence behind each smiling face, despite everything they have been through. Please let’s not allow tourism to change that.

Laos is an amazing country which we feel privileged to have visited before mass tourism arrives. Through this emotional and in-depth experience our passion and love of Laos will forever be close to our hearts.

Cesca

Our journey through Laos – written in two posts

Post one is our boarder crossing into Northern Laos from Thailand and journeying down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang, then as we re-enter the river again in the South for our adventures in the 4000 islands and post two is our journey through the cultural centres of Laos and the great fun and frolics we had along the way.

 
Along the Mekong and city life in Laos

Hope you enjoy them too!

Cesca

Introduction

They say the better part of travelling is meeting the people from the countries you visit.  They do not say how much that meeting will affect you, neither how heartbreaking such encounters can be.  The first time I met a one legged man in Laos, while visiting COPE – the charity for the war injured, I asked him how he lost his leg?

“The American’s took it,” he replied.

What can one say to that? 

Such emotionally confronting sights are common in South East Asia if you let yourself see them.  Too many of the people who come here simply gloss over the lives of the people they encounter.  Too many go home and say, “Oh South East Asia is alright, beautiful countryside… but so many beggars!”  Without giving any thought to what this means and what causes people to beg on the streets.  Beg, not because they want money for a drug addiction, simply because there is no governmental help for the war-wounded and having no legs, fingers or arms is a lifelong barrier to entry to almost anywhere.

We have spent the last three months travelling all over SEA with our eyes wide open.  In fact, we decided to go all the way and visited all the disabled workshops, children’s orphanages and museums that we could.  We have met with Cambodians missing limbs, Children Orphaned by AID’s, Vietnamese who fought against the US and Laotians struggling to come to terms with their ravaged country.  Along the way, we have visited many of the actual areas attacked by or affected by the war, spoken with war photographers who captured the images that define the war and run our hands over the pockmarked remains of war equipment.  This is not very hard to do.  Simply visit Laos, Cambodia or Vietnam and you cannot help but see if you only look.

However, the results are not pretty.

Read more by clicking here:

Through all this I have held off commenting on the war, known to those in Vietnam as “The American War,” until I actually left the area.  This is because millions of people in South East Asia are still feeling the effects of the conflict everyday and by being there I was in danger of missing perspective on the big-picture.  I wanted to be far enough away from it all to be able to get some context before I commented.

That is why this blog entry exists.  We left the area in February, bound for India, and after much discussion between us, I feel I can properly write about the American War.

Historical Outline

Everyone knows about the war in Vietnam, right?  Wrong.  Before coming here, 90% of the information I had about the Vietnam War was created by the US movie industry.  I grew up watching Platoon, Hamburger Hill and The Deer Hunter.  To me the Vietnamese were slant-eyed nightmares who charged the noble US grunts fighting for freedom in the jungle.  Before I left home, I had neither any idea where Laos was nor had I known the tragic history of Cambodia (all I knew was that it didn’t look like Kansas).

If you are in the same situation, here is a quick outline of what actually happened in easy to understand steps. 

Caveat.

Please keep in mind that while I do have some qualifications as a historian, I have not attempted to be definitive here in any sense other than intentions. Some of the numbers happened at the same time and some may be out of order.  I have linked all my sources in the endnotes of the article.

The War

1. The French took over a lot of SEA apart from Malaysia, which was British owned thanks to a British adventurer who had his balls shot off.

2. The Japanese invaded in WWII and “kicked them all out”.

3. The British, US (via sea), Australasians’ and free people of SEA defeated the Japanese.

4. The French tried to get their empire back.

The French landing back in SEA were confident of victory

5. They were defeated by the Vietnamese in battle.

 

A soldier begs for the end to battle

6. Meanwhile the Chinese went communist.

7. The US invented the idea that since China was next to the USSR and SEA was next to China, a dangerous “Domino Effect” might spread Communism as far south as taking over Australia.  This shows a mighty misunderstanding of the Australian temperament.

8. Ho Chi Min declares his country separate and his view communist.

Ho Chi Min (Centre in white)

9. The King of Cambodia declares his leanings communist after a long visit to China.

10. All parties agreed to avoid war or get involved.

11. All parties ignored this agreement and the US started “advising” South Vietnam.

12. The South Vietnam regime is blood thirsty and even uses the guillotine. Much like the reports of the North then.

The guillotine of Deim

13. The South Vietnam leader is assassinated, which shocked Kennedy.

Kennedy and US Defence Secretary Robert Mcnamara

14. Kennedy is assassinated.

15. The US either engineer, or allows to happen, the Gulf of Tonkin incident securing a declaration of war.

16. The US strategy in the war is similar to the “Shock and Awe” tactic used in the 2nd Gulf War.  They believe that the communists will eventually quit.  Thus, it becomes a war of attrition.  This later proved a wrong move (see endnotes).

A US base comes under attack

17. The Vietnamese do not give up and build a very long road that weaves in and out of Vietnam and Laos, which allows them to go around the north/south divide in Vietnam.  This is known as the “Ho Chi Min Trail.”

 

When the trail was blown up the VC simply carried their equipment

18. The Laos army tries to stop this and the Vietnamese start a revolution/uprising/civil-war in Laos.

19. Laos’ king asks the US to help after being left somewhat in the lurch by the French.  They start a secret CIA led war in Laos by using the highland Hmong tribes as soldiers supported by the US airforce (directed by the famous Ravens). This war is against the Pathet Lao communists supplied by the Vietnamese.

One of the Raven spotter planes

20. The US uses most of their airforce in Laos to bomb the HCM Trail.  In fact, the bomb they crap out of it with cluster bombs, high explosives, soap and anything else they can think of.  Nothing works to stem the flow and many of the bombs do not explode.  The rest they use against the Pathet Lao around the Plain of Jars.

Bombing runs in Vietnam

21. The US government says to the people that the war will soon be won; the communists are weakened and cannot fight anymore.

 

The US president Johnson talks the talk

22. In reality the communists threaten the Khe San base to such an extent the US commanders plan on using short range nukes to defend it.

23. The Khe San offensive turns out to be a ruse by the Vietnamese and they have been secretly digging tunnels to Saigon (the Cu Chi tunnels).  On the eve of the Tet celebrations (New Year – around mid Jan) the Vietnamese attack everywhere from these tunnels.

A US soldier orders up help during the Tet offensive

24. These resulting battles are all won by the US, but the public realise that they have been lied to and the US have to pull out.

 

Nixon describes the pull out of troops

25. Without US support Vietnam falls to the HCM forces.

26. Laos falls to the Pathet Lao and the Hmong are all killed or flee around the world.  Many now live in the US.  Some, amazingly, still live in the Laos hills avoiding the Laotian army.

27. Cambodia is in civil war at this point and the communist Khmer Rouge win the conflict in many ways thanks to the king (who is still in China) publically supporting them.

28. The Thai / Cambodian border is mined.  A lot.

29. The Khmer Rouge move into the capital of Cambodia amid celebrations, but they have another agenda.  They announce that all the people must leave the city immediately.  Anyone who argues is shot on the spot.  Those hiding in the French embassy are forced to leave and shot.

30. The Khmer Rouge forces the people of the cities of Cambodia to work in the fields as farmers.  Anyone who argues is shot.

31. The Khmer Rouge leader starts rounding up people who do not fit his plans, basically educated people.  Has them all seriously tortured and then taken out to fields and beaten around the head until dead.  This is a staggering amount of people.

32. The Khmer Rouge then tries to take over Southern Vietnam.

33. The Vietnamese invade Cambodia, knock over the Khmer Rouge in two weeks and turn Cambodia into a vassal state only allowed to buy products from the Vietnamese (much like Laos then).

34. Thousands of Laotians start to die from Unexploded US Ordinances (UXO’s) every year.

35. Thousands of Cambodians step on land mines every year.

36. Thousands of Vietnamese start developing strange symptoms and having children with very serious birth defects.  This is traced to “Agent Orange” that the US dropped on the jungles of Vietnam.  “Agent Orange” contains some of the worst ingredients imaginable. Top of the list is Dioxin – look it up.  Its claimed effect was to defoliate the areas hiding VC troops (Chu Chi for example), but the ingredients basically kill all life, not just trees.

37. Australia does not become communist.

That is the basics.  There is much more to it than that, but this is enough for you to be going on with.  What is clear from the history of the area is that the US hates Communism.  Hates it to such an extent that they almost nuked the country they were trying to defend to stop it.  That’s some hate.

Why?

What is so wrong with Communism?

Well, nothing in particular, but it is essentially a people supposedly without rich and poor.  Equality.  Which doesn’t seem so bad until you realise how screwed up some of the attempts to implement the idea have been. 

Take Cambodia.  There, the Khmer Rouge were inspired by Maoist Communism and yet decided that it was not going far enough.  They tried to force the entire Cambodian people back into a simple farming life, a basic existence, by shooting anyone who said anything against it. 

Alternatively, take Laos, the Pathet Lao won the war and changed the country forever.  Consequently, Laos is one of the world’s poorest countries; it has elections but only one party is on the ballot. 

The issue is not so much that a share-alike egalitarian culture is a bad idea, only that it has not been successfully implemented yet (Kerala in India not withstanding- it’s only a state).  To the US though, it is more than this.  The US is essentially designed as a country that rewards striving for wealth.  The idea that a man is due the full value of his work in the pursuit of happiness.  This is the “American Dream.”  What it leads to is a country split between those who have and those who have not.  Those who have: have a lot, and those who have not: have bugger all. 

The government is highly influenced by those who have and they were not about to give it all up to those who have not, right!?  Bingo.  The people who have won the “American Dream” deeply fear to lose their cut of the world’s profit.  This fear underpins almost all US aggression around the world.  The rest is just marketing; the picking of a bogyman and sticking it to him.

The Aftermath

The aftermath of the American War is the greater tragedy. 

Cambodia

The Khmer Rouge was one of the most bloodthirsty murdering governments in history.  One really has to get Biblical to match them.  Would such a group have prevailed if not for the war?  This is perhaps something that no one could have predicted.  However, their legacy is still with us today; anyone over 35 in Cambodia lived through the Khmer Rouge government.  That in itself is an achievement and the scars are everywhere.  There is honestly something in the eyes, something in the attitude of Cambodians, which is not yet healed; the entire country is still emotionally broken.  Mostly, this is due to the lack of justice done on the Khmer leaders.  Pol Pot died under house arrest escaping a trial, and even the man who ran the Tuol Sleng Centre (also known as S-21) has not been tried yet.  The ringleaders of the Khmer Rouge are all dying of old age before being judged.  Its not that putting octogenarians into jail is going to protect anyone, but the country needs to judge these people as wrong.  Only then can the healing begin. 

The horror of S-21 and the Killing Fields

So what’s stopping it?  The Khmer Rouge have simply faded into a new skin: that of the Communist Party.  The trials are therefore all being held up and so justice and healing for the Cambodian people is still a long way off.

When visiting Cambodia, a number of things tug at your heartstrings.  That is, after they are through tugging your arms.  The whole country is awash with children who are forced to work.  In many cases this is a genuine need for the family to supplement its income, but it does not change the fact that these children are everywhere.  Everywhere but school.

Child workers sell theirs wares and services to a
Western Lady

The second thing also tugs at you.  At your ankles.  So many people have lost limbs through stepping on mines, or though the war, that you encounter them all the time.  In certain places you will encounter one every ten minutes.  Cesca and I went to a performance by an invalided acting troop in Siem Reap and saw firsthand the mental effects and stigma of having such injuries in a country without a social service.  Begging becomes their only hope.

The disabled acting troop in Siem Reap

Thus, the cycle perpetuates itself.  In fact, for the children at least, selling bracelets, massages and themselves on the beaches of Cambodia is a real career choice.  I remember Cesca asking one little girl what she wanted to do when she was grown up.  “Doctor!” came the reply.  Cesca was moved enough to buy the proffered item; why not to help a girl in her ambitions?  Twenty minutes later another girl came up and she wanted to be a doctor as well.  So did the next one after that.  It seems that “becoming a doctor” means more sales because Western people respect doctors a lot.

Small things like that work on you.  They gnaw.  Cambodians are great people- friendly, helpful and smart.  They need a break, but for now, they are broken.

Laos

The US really wanted to save Laos. I say that now because this is the only redeeming quality for what they did to this country.  It was akin to saving a man from robbery by shooting him in the head.  In addition, official history has not been kind to them on this score- the Pathet Lao, now the government, has very subtly changed the version of events in its official histories.  As far as they are concerned the US were fighting against the Laotians, not for them.  Such a dichotomy partially explains the over-bombing of Laos, making it the most bombed country in the world, when in fact the truth is far worse. 

The US bombed the hell out of Laos to try to save it.

Of all the countries to suffer from the American War, Laos is the one left with the longest legacy.  The entire eastern side of the country is littered with unexploded bombs of all types.  Even monstrously large B52 bombs are regularly dug up. On one video we watched they found two in the road between two schools.  Both armed, both ready to blow if knocked.  Aside from the big stuff, Laos was cluster bombed to hell and back.  Cluster munitions, called bombies by the children of Laos, are small cricket ball sized bombs of varying types. 

A collection of deactivate cluster bombs (bombies) made into an art exhibition at COPE

The idea is that the cluster container opens and disperses these bombies over a large area.  The problem is that they often did not explode; in order to prime the basic type requires a number of rotations.  If they hit a paddy field before the required count or snag a tree and stop spinning then they will often not explode.  That is until picked up or disturbed by a local.  Then they will blast out 200 red-hot ball bearings in all directions.  Mixed in with such devices were all sorts of ‘special’ bombies.  Some are smaller, some are meaner, but by far the most terrifying is the Spider Mine.  On landing, this bombie shoots out trip wires in four directions and blows up the first thing that crosses them-

Usually a child.

You see, Laos is so poor that scrap metal is worth serious money.  Little children all want to get the bounty on scrap and so regularly hunt for Bombies.  This is too often a tale with the most tragic ending imaginable.  I cannot think of anything worse than children blown to bits by cluster bombs dropped by an ally in order to protect their culture. 

That is exactly what happens every day here.

Laos was the country that stole our hearts in SEA.  It has an innocence about it that belies the fact that a fair percentage of the population is living with the threat of being blown to bits every single time they step out their door.  It is testament to their innocence that they do not realise that this is not normal.

Perhaps they are waking up.  The government of Laos is a classic Eastern Block Communism but now with capitalist overtones.  The opening of the country to international trade has started a chain reaction that will eventually lead to change, even if that change is violent.  Necessity will drive it.  For now Laos is a wondrous mix of countryside Asia unchanged for 100 years and French inspired food and drink.  The beer in Laos is one of the very best in the entire world and in the capital you can get a brilliant steak dinner for pocket change. 

The simple Mekong Life – how long will it last?

The visitor numbers are increasing and it will not be long before this travel trade, properly directed, will make a real difference.  Much of the conversation held between backpackers is on the subject of the travel trade in Laos.  The question is, “will the money made from travel affect Laos in a good or bad way?”  Already the town of Vang Vieng is given over to supplying tourists with drink, drugs, endless episodes of Friends and riverfront clubbing.

Lao T-Shirts, great but only for tourists.

To those harmed by bombs it is already too late, but organisations such as MAG (Mine Action Group) are trying to de-bomb Laos by 2012.  On our visit to their headquarters, they showed us a computer drawn map of the amount of Unexploded Ordinance in Laos.  Each bomb sortie was a red dot.  The entire eastern side of the country was red with so many dots that they all blended together.  You can see the data yourself online using Google Earth.  We donated all we could to MAG and hope they achieve their projected clear date as each year adds more misery to this already burdened country.

Downtime in Vang Vieng

Vietnam

Vietnam’s issue is not with UXO’s – although they do exist and like Cambodia, you should never walk off the path, nor is it to do with societal mental damage.  In Vietnam, they have sorted through the American War and put the blood very firmly on the hands of the US.  In Ho Chi Min City (Saigon) there is a very good museum to the war that pulls no punches to tell you what the US did to these people.  However, it did not break them.  The Vietnamese are proud of their achievements.  Proud to have won what, was from their point of view, a war of independence.  I could not help but be impressed by both their attitude to it and indeed their industrious attitude to the future.  So, what is the damage here?

Basho considers facing one of these monster US tanks in battle – they are scary enough when decommissioned.

Two things. Firstly, one man you meet fought against the US, the next fought for them.  This has a dividing effect on the country and while the north/south border has physically gone, the mental border is still there.  Still, that is no worse than in England.  The second, and far worse thing, is the way the world see’s Vietnam is through US war movies.  I watched Rambo cut down multitudes of evil VC in the Rambo: Part 2 movie.  I saw Platoon portray the VC as simple targets.  I have seen them dehumanised repeatedly.  Even the films that try and “apologise” for the war, like The Deer Hunter, shows the VC in a way that would be scorned if it were – say – the Japanese.

I have seen a man in Ho Chi Min take his children for a walk to the same park every day.  Feed them breakfast on the grass, play with them and watch over them.  He did not fit a stereotype I was force fed all my life, he was simply a good father.

This Hollywood movie misrepresentation leaves the Vietnamese with a lot of catching up to do even today.  I lost count of the number of people who warned me against the Vietnamese culture.  Many said that they were rude, hostile and not friendly.  This malignment was quickly banished on arrival.  I have to say that the Vietnamese are some of the nicest people we have yet met on our journey and all through the country the same smiling faces greeted us.  We felt very welcome, even when chatting to a man who had lost his arm during the war.  They are proud of the war.  Such wounds are worn with pride here.

 

The modern Tet celebration has a real buz about it.  It is everyone’s birthday, the New Year and the “surge that changed the war” all rolled into one. Great fireworks.

Conclusion

In 50 years time, will we be writing posts like this about Iraq?  The amount chaos left in South East Asia is truly tragic.  Death and destruction to prevent a theory, a theory that said if SEA falls to the “commies” that “western” people may be next.  The real fear the US had was a fear of about its own societal core, it is after all a very young country and such upheavals always seem more possible.  It is no gratification that the US even turned on its own people to flush out possible communists with the advent of the “Reds under the bed” and McCarthyism.  It is, I guess, just another part of the tragedy of the American War in South East Asia.

Regards,

Basho

Endnotes:

Where the note is marked “(WIKI)”, it is linked to Wikipedia.  Note that this brilliant website is not the be all and end all of factual information on anything.  It is, however, a very good place to start.

I had a great time that day and every now and then watch this film to reflect on it. Drunken days like this are certainly not my norm! Just before the video kicks off and we are shown in a bar is the moment that I came face to fangs with the worlds largest spider, which you read about here: http://www.outsidecontext.com/2009/11/23/bashos-5-amazing-spider-encounters/

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Some notes about the film:

• M150 is the demonspawn of Redbull and god knows what – it is banned in most countries for its effects being similar to speed
• The video camera was wrist mounted and the same one used in many of my other videos. It is water and mud proof
• We all had an crazy time and danced till it was dark before Tuk-Tuk’ing back to town for our tube deposits
• The tubes are large Lorry inner tubes and prone to being uncontrollable
• This video is dedicated to Colin who missed out on the fun due to his having been partying for 24 hour straight the day before. The quote at the front is his.
• Once the M150 wore off we all crashed in bed for the next day

Laos is a very poor country that needs as much help as we can give it, so if you do visit Laos please pick up the “Stay another day” book that details how you can help this brilliant but struggling nation.

For more information about Laos and visiting, why not check out our Laos articles?

http://www.outsidecontext.com/2009/04/11/laos-pdr-mekong-meanderings/

http://www.outsidecontext.com/2009/03/19/laos-pdr-history-heart/

http://www.outsidecontext.com/2009/05/21/laos-the-gem-of-indochina-a-cultural-connection/

http://www.outsidecontext.com/2009/03/05/the-american-war/

These show the other sides of Laos.

Regards,

Basho