Our Claptrap climbed to 1000 metres along windy mountain passes arriving in Phonesavan having only broken down once. Phonesavan, in the Xieng Khuang province, is a bit of a detour off the trodden track and into the heart of Laos. As a town it’s dusty and uninspiring except for its ubiquitous scrap collections of bomb casings. What brought Debbie and I here, leaving the Luang Prabang posse for the meantime, was the little known Plain of Jars.

Who, what, where, why, when, how - all questions about the Plain of Jars that remain essentially unanswered. The sites of these jars are now under the protection of Unesco, but up until 1985 there was no protection, and little knowledge of these mysterious SE Asian artifacts. The jars are now empty of whatever they used to contain but they still held plenty of questions for our group and our guide to theorize about.

• The rock from which the jars were made has not been located and is not from the area.
• The jars groupings appear unordered
• Some of the jars weigh over 6 tonnes
• There are up to 60 sites of jars. There are three main sites that are been cleared of bomb ordinance
• The largest site has 350 jars, the biggest being 2 ½ metres high
• Human remains have been found BESIDE one or two of the jars
• Suggested age of the jars is 2500 years old, although this is difficult to measure given the lack of artifacts uncovered around the jars, and until now, the lack of serious research
• Only one jar has any decoration, a basic carving of a man
• Few have lids
• All lie in the elevated plains of the Xieng Khuang province
• Many jars have been damaged by locals breaking the stone to use, US bombings, and nature
• The site is now protected and is being studied to learn more about its purpose and meaing and about early SE Asian civilisations.

Possibly these jars used to contain offerings for the spirits, probably as part of the burial ritual. But uncovering their real history will require academic research in the coming years. Walking between these artifacts, touching them, looking into them, amplified their wonder for me. Our theory that the Jars were for the jam made by giants has for the moment been discounted.

Sadly, the district has a another history as well. Between 1964-1973, in the period of the Vietnam War, the US conducted one of the largest sustained aerial bombardments in history, flying 580,344 missions over Laos and dropping 2 million tones of bombs. The US perceived Laos, disproportionately, as the crucial South Eastern Asian ‘Domino’ relentlessly carpet bombing it to counter the presence of North Vietnamese in the country. Known now as the secret war, these bombings were carried out in violation of the Geneva Convention (Laos was a neutral country), and were denied up until the fall of the Soviet Union, and to this day remains unacknowledged by the US government. But since 1992 when Laos opened up to tourism it is plain to see by any who visit this province. Bomb craters pot the countryside and hills that were laced with Agent Orange and Napalm still lie bare more than 30 years after the war. This appalling legacy lives on with these people daily: About 30% of the bombs dropped on Laos failed to explode leaving the country littered with UXO (unexploded ordinance) from Cluster bombs.

Farmers working these fields for their livelihood are most at risk. Between 1973 and 1996 there were 11,000 UXO accidents. The scrap metal from these bombs is worth a lot of money to peasant farmers in this district. A large bomb, sometimes unexploded, can be worth US$40 as scrap. In town these bomb shells are used as everything from flower gardens to fireplaces or simply decoration, or, perhaps more likely, a reminder. I sensed no animosity from Laos people and our guide spoke passionately about cleaning up the land and making it safe. The US government currently contributes nothing to the cleanup of this UXO, despite spending US$2.2 million a day on their bombing campain here.British Mines Advisory Group (MAG) have been clearing UXO since 1994. Proudly, the New Zealand government has also been contributing this past year and Helen Clark will be visiting the Plain of Jars site 1 when she attends the Asian Summit in Vientiane in November. Many Laos people I met who I had told I was from NZ expressed that they knew of our contribution!

At the current rate of clearance it will take a further 100 years to cleanup this UXO. For me it was a reminder that the consequences of any war live on with the civilian population long after the bombs have stopped falling. As I choke on todays rhetoric of the never ending ‘war on terror’ I am reminded too that war should never be preemptive, never unilateral, and only a last resort, never a solution.

Old Luang Prabang is a picaresque town on the peninsula of the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers in Northern Laos. Some of the architecture in the streets recalls a French influence from the 50’s when Laos was still a colony of France. I’ve been hanging out with a nice little posse and the atmosphere here is relaxed, and the temperature a little cooler than Thailand. So I stayed a while, 5 days so far.

Our guesthouse was a find. French style, wooden floors, two double beds in a double bedroom and an attached bathroom, situated by the river and in the middle of Old Town. All for the not at all princely sum of US$5 a night, split between 2. With Luang Prabang’s rich history the Royal Palace and grounds was an obvious to begin. The Royal family were exiled after the 1975 revolution and the palace was turned into a museum. Art, artifacts, Buddha, and palace furniture adorn the rooms, large murals and glass mosaics grace their walls. On the slopes of Phu Si, hundreds of steps above the palace grounds, are a number of Wat. The 360 degree view is a beautiful perspective of the city centre, its sprawl, and the hills and pagoda’s in the distance.
For a dollar we took a small boat across the Mekong that evening to Wat Chom Phet. Only Laos people live on this side of the river. When we found the Wat closed for the day, children who had followed us up the many steps guided us towards another Wat, Wat Tham Xieng Maen. Outside, in the dark, we could see a warm glow emanating from the doorway. The gravel under our feet must have alerted one of the monks who came to the entrance and invited us in. We sat, silently, meditatively amongst the monks.

We took a Jumbo (Songthaw) to Kuang Si Falls the next day, 29km out of Luang Prabang on rough as guts roads. The falls themselves were magnificent, towering into the forest. We took some paths up the right side of the falls to the highest point. A wooden fence erected along the top suggested the possibility of walking across the top of the waterfalls main cascade. Bedding planes of rock slowed the flow of water enough and at some points the water was only ankle deep. The rocks up here gave remarkably good grip too, possibly because the water’s movement didn’t allow algae to grow. So, with due caution, we made our way across and were rewarded with a magic view. Back down at the foot of the falls we swum in the turquoise green pools.

We planned nothing big the next day. Tash and I walked to some Wat near where the rivers meet. I had time on my hands and so did Monk Vieng Soy. I met him under a tree in a corner of the grounds of Wat Sop. He greeted me and so I went over to him. He was learning English and asked me to check his work. His level of English was pretty good so I could ask him as many questions as he had for me. He was fine talking to Tash too, though at a little more distance; Monks normally are not in the close company of women. It was clear he was passionate about learning about other cultures. He had learned Mandarin and lived in China for a year in an exchange and was hoping to go to Nepal next year. ‘What is Christmas? I have read about this’ he asked. ‘Are there female Christian Monks? There are female Monks in China’. I asked about the make up of his day and how long he had been a Monk. ‘These Tattoos I made before I was a monk’, he said pointing at a butchered, hand carved snake on his forearm. Explaining that Tattoos were not respectful, he told me with some conviction, ‘In my next life I will not have any tattoos.

We were invited by Monk Vieng Soy to an anniversary celebration the next day for an elder monk of the Wat. The festival atmosphere here was great. Monks, Nuns and other Laos filled the grounds, strikingly dressed in traditional costume. Offerings were taken outside and presented on the money tree. Inside were prayers, chanting and speeches, a real buzz. I’m always aware of not being an ignorant foreigner when it taking photos and so I took only a few inside, and when they too took some snaps. This is more than could be said for the odd Farang shooting indiscriminately at the most disrespectful times. Would you take flash photography of a Catholic Bishop in the middle of prayer?

The night markets here have high quality of local crafts for cheap cheap. US$1 = Kip10,000. I’m frequently walking around with a wad of 100,000’s of Kip. French breakfasts here are great, as are the baguettes, croissants, gateaux and cappacinos. As a new taste sensation I tried Buffalo sausage at a little place on the river the other night. Very dark meat, quite rich – it must be high in Iron. Beer Laos, as a cult and a lager, is definitely worth a mention. It comes mostly in 650ml bottles and in my books rates right up there with any beer. I watched ‘Osama’ an independent Afganistani film yesterday in the loft of a small bookshop. It’s excellent. Watch it someday you’re feeling good about the world. (nothing to do with Bin Laden).

Finally - this is the last time I write an unprepared and completely out of control post of this length – the mighty mighty Arsenal went down to Man Utd last night stopping them in what would’ve been their 50th unbeaten game. Dad, Till, Al you would’ve been watching, yeah? Well that penalty was a joke, there was no contact in it, although Campbell was stupid to even hang out his foot like that in the first place. (Had to get that off my chest).

And the US elections are getting close now - have your vote at http://www.betavote.com . The Guardian has been doing its bit to encourage American voters in the swing state of Clarks County to oust Bush http://www.guardian.co.uk/uselections2004/story/0,13918,1326066,00.html that returned some hilarious, albeit freaky, letters in reply http://www.guardian.co.uk/uselections2004/story/0,13918,1329858,00.html

The 2 day Slow Boat was no pleasure cruise. Looking more like a floating house, we chugged down the river at a speed that put pins and needles in your ass. I resolved to practice my Buddhist calm. Despite this, I wouldn’t do it any other way - especially since I know what the other way is. The alternative, naturally, is the fast boat, a hell ride in a thin fiberglass coffin. And besides, the slow boat really gave me time to soak up the feel of the Mekong.

The river is a rich sienna colour, brown, the result of the silt runoff from the hills that edge the river. The Slow boats themselves add vibrancy to the river, painted in vivid, blues, reds and greens. In the evenings, as the sun only glances the river, its hue shifts to pewter. At occasional stops on the river local children sell snacks and Beer Laos through the windows. We were all in it together. Friendships were easy to make.
(more…)

Reflecting on my posts thus far in Thailand, I notice the absence of mention of the spirit of the Thai people. And it’s more than worth a mention. Outside of Bangkok, a head banging shambles of a city though encrusted with a few jewels, the people have always a smile to give. I’d say its infectous. And in this land of smiles who would want to be caught with their bottom lip hanging out? There is the odd exception, like the heavily touristed areas where the need to make a sale becomes wearisome. But right now I’m thinking of the people of Chang Kong, a small village in Northern Thailand notable only as a point of departure for my slow boat to Laos.

I arrived in the evening and, with Debbie, walked the main road, the only road, through the village. Everyone said hello, or Sawadee, the kids always wave, and all the smiles are welcoming ones. Down the road we chanced upon a hut with a group of Thai men drinking, singing, playing instruments. They called us over and of course we went in. They spoke little English and we spoke little Thai and didn’t know their songs. But we sung and we drank their red Whisky brew and kept the beat. The evenings drinking was anticipating the annual festival at their Wat the next day. We put some baht on the money tree, as they had. The names of everyone that contributes is read out by the monks the next day. And when we went to leave, in a break in the rain, we were offered a tuk tuk back to our guesthouse, with the insistence of no payment (though we still tipped). In Laos I’m expecting greater poverty, but I’m hoping the children still have a similar brightness in their eyes.

Briefed and equipped, we left our backpackers residence, set for the jungles of the north. Ahead of us lay new sights, smells, sounds and tastes, all brilliantly vivid, none easy to forget. One and a half hours out of Chiang Mai we began our trek, gently at first and then deeper into the land of the Karen Tribe. Humidity was high but the sun was forgiving and we made good progress.

We couldn’t have had a better group of ten - our personalities splashed together like kiddie poster paint. Our guides, Pun and Ken, were easy to trust and knew this land. Over and over they proved themselves - Sharp eyes, sharp instincts, sharp knives. I saw what was visible and came to me, butterflys, dragonflys, the land, water and path ahead. They saw the invisible - wasp nests, mud frogs, bristled catipillars, termite mounds, spiders and snakes.
(more…)

RAIN, torrents of it, falling like a waterfall. Patong just couldnt cope. Because of the scale of recent development here, and instead of natural drainage into the soils, water bounced off the concrete and into storm water drains until bursting. I had thought that, being a dull afternoon, I’d get a Thai Massage from accross the road. I couldn’t get across the road. The heaviest rain fell for only about 6 hours in which time roads floaded into low lying shops, streaming at speed. I watched from the lobby. A bycycle floated by.
(more…)

Whenever I relocate to another port of call, that day is almost a right off as far as any serious adventuring goes. But I try to treat it as the activity of the day and am getting pretty relaxed about moving around. You meet people, you go somewhere, no probs. I just dont understand the attitude of the odd traveller that has to be there NOW and how nothing works like clockwork. Thats just not true.

Phi Phi Isl was an interesting place.. its actually a national park but obviously has some areas designated for ‘light’ development. Foot is the main mode of transport. Lanes are very narrow suitable only for foot traffic. (Thais riding bikes down the narrow Soi actually call out “beep beep” when there are coming!) It really would be quite idylic if there werent so many people in a small place, and dominated by resort accomodation. If I come back to Phi Phi I’d stay at Long Beach (which I hadnt known about till the next day) which is more the bungalow backpacker scene and requires a longboat taxi to get there and away.
(more…)

Just out of Krabi, known for its rock climbing, is Ao Nang, a quieter beach village. Travellers seemed to be on a different vibe than those at Samui which suited me just fine. I met this couple from Leeds, Nicki and Paul, that were just so cool to hang out with. First night we went out for street food - 25bht Pad Thais (and boy have I eaten a lot of those lately) - and drinks at a few local spots of choice. And here the bar tenders just love to play games! Connect Four and Jenga over a few Chang Beers.

We took a longtail boat out to Poda Is and Chicken Is the next day. These boats line the beach so its only a matter of walking down the road and youll be asked if you want to go somewhere. This day trip had it all - sunshine, perfect uninhabited beaches (about time I found a few), brilliant aqua water, powder fine sands. We took it all in. Paul and I snapped some mad postcard shots (see photolog). And we watched the mood change on the mainland as clouds rolled in and thought how grandiose Krabi’s cliffs looked in that light.
(more…)

Thailand is known for its blind eye to copyright © and tourists love buying up the cheap stuff that would cost a bomb back home. I’m pretty relaxed about the whole thing, I haven’t bought my DVD’s yet but I picked up some nice Oakleys for 200bht. If you want something that they dont have, they’ll have it - “same same, but different”. But what really cracks me up is how much the idea of ‘original art’ can be blurred, smudged, in the painting galleries all along Ko Samui’s Chaweng Beach.

What painting would you like? Pick from an art book and they’ll paint it for you in 3-5 days (very good technically). How large would you like it? You can change the colours to suit your lounge suite. The funny bit is hearing tourists talking about ‘original’ oil painting. Not only are the paintings theyre commissioning reproduced from a book, but they’re also signed ‘Picasso’ or ‘Van Gogh’ or whatever. They paint Andy Warhol screenprints (a process for making multiple copies). Their galleries often held 2 or 3 copies of the same reproduced work waiting for purchase. And funnier still, all of these galleries all paint copies of the same works!

***
Chaweng Beach was not a place I’d recommend to a backpacker. It was ok. But Chewang was definitely geared to the consumer tourist or resort bunny. And it rained a lot. I heard tourists doing business on cellphones, saw jetskis mow the beaches, planes fly in, and put up with hearing “Nobody wants to be lonely” (Ricky Martin Christina Aguillera) and others. The Thainess of Samui was missing.

But on the up side I did get to a Caberet show (bumped into the Canadians again at the full moon), toured the island in a hired 4wd and climbed a track to 80m Namuang Waterfall and checked out some Thai boxing with some Poms I met. The Waterfall was a real slog to climb, a really poorly cut track and some real steep bits where you need ropes to pull yourself up, and balmy humidity through the bush. The Thai boxing was actually Thai women boxing (missed the men the night before). I was going along with the poms who I thought knew their stuff. We were dropped at Lamai Beach by the ring but surrounded by pink light tents. That means ladies. I have some appreciation of what its like for a girl to be harrassed in Muslim countries. Thai girls descend in packs on guys asking if you want a good time. Not this time (or the next). By the time it all kicked off Lamai Ring was fuller and safer. Ladies - and ladyboys - sparred it out. I should have guessed.

I left this morning for Krabi and am staying along from Hat Rai Lei Beach. Sometimes I like the travel bit of moving from place to place. You get talking to some great people. The downside of itinerary being quite fixed is that I can’t really float along with them. Going out for a few tonight with an english couple and maybe hitting Rai Lei west tomorrow. Doing a bit of mind-mapping thoughts on everything under the sun, started sketching and am dabbling in poetry. Quite the romantic idea of a traveller I know.

I’m off to buy the T-shirt: Same Same, but different!