Good Morning Vietnam!

Our first internal flight of the trip took us all to Hanoi. Or at let it was supposed to be all of us. But at check in Liz, who has been travelling the world alone for the last 8 months, discovered she didn't have all the parts of the Vietnamese visa that she needed and they wouldn't let her board. Sam stayed behind to try and help her out and the rest of us took our seats wondering if we'd be arriving in Hanoi sans leader. Sam managed to board at the last moment but without Liz. She had to make a dash to the Vietnamese embassy to get the visa stamped and would have to follow on a later flight.

After the short flight we arrived in Hanoi with dampened spirits which weren't helped by the grey, cloudy weather and low temperatures. We'd always known that northern Vietnam would be cool at this time of year but we had hoped for at least a little sun. And less traffic. I don't think anything can prepare you for the mayhem that is the road system in this city. Every lane is awash with speeding scooters and this is especially true in the Old Quarter where our hotel was. This square kilometre of the city, which was walled up behind ramparts until the middle of the 19th Century, is a hectic maze of narrow roads jammed with cars, scooters and pedestrians. The pavements have been colonised by streets vendors and are used as off road parking by the scooter heads. This forces pedestrians into the road and as newcomers you are permanently alert to the possibility of being hit from in front, behind, practically every angle really.

Overwhelming as this all was I didn't have time to either worry or acclimatise as we were soon back on the road and heading further into North Vietnam and Ha Long bay. Those who've been paying close attention so far will remember my aversion to boats and this excursion was going to be 'kill or cure'. A day and a night on a converted junk floating off shore in the South China Sea. I'd always had it in my head that if I didn't like the look of the boat I'd just arrange a hotel in the harbour town and wait for everyone else to come back but before I even had a chance to think about it I was kitted out in a life jacket and on board the small tender boat taking us to the junk that would be our floating hotel for the next two days. Luckily the harbour was very protected and calm so there was none of the rocking about that I find so scary. And as we steamed out of the harbour into the bay itself there just wasn't time to be anxious. The sight before us was totally entrancing.

Heading out into the sea all we could see ahead was what looked like a huge wall of green rock that seemed to block our path. As we floated closer the wall resolved itself into several large jags of limestone cliffs. Individual islands which were thought to only number around two thousand until modern technology discovered another three thousand further up the coast. So not many really. Although we didn't have the clear blue skies shown in all the posters and postcards of this famous place, I thought the misty skies added to the air of mystery that pervaded the place. As our boat negotiated it's way through the many islands dotted about it was easy to imagine this as a place of fantasy and fairytale and that the myth of a celestial dragon spitting out chunks of mountain to stop an invading fleet just might be true. After the war was over the dragon decided to stay, hence the name Ha Long (dragon descending) and the claims of sea monster sightings.

After a fabulous lunch on board we were taken by tender to a grotto of caves with some impressively huge caverns, even if they were busy with other photo-snapping tourists. Packed with stalactites and stalagmites there was also a rocky outcrop shaped like a turtle (one of the four animals considered lucky by Buddhists). Hence his rather shiny nose from lucky rubbing. Another rock, proving a photographic favourite, was the rather surprising pink-hued phallus. There's no escaping my job sometimes. I didn't see if it was shiny as well.

As most of us returned to the boat, Liz and Nicola headed off in a kayak to do some more exploring. The rest of the afternoon was quiet time - most of us read, wrote or simply admired the scenery from our anchored position in a small bay with occasional visits from a group of about 8 swooping sea eagles. As dusk fell, the light of other nearby boats started to twinkle in the evening light and darkness swallowed up the mountains curved around us. A dinner of sea food treats was delicious and after a few glasses of wine, the karaoke machine was switched on and several famous tunes cruelly murdered. Our cabins eventually beckoned but despite being exhausted the noisy, vibrating throb of the generator immediately underneath us kept me awake for most of the night.

Breakfast was taken as we sailed back to port and so ended the new highlight of the trip so far. Easily on a par with the elephants. We were soon thrown back into the hectic whirlpool of Hanoi life where I found I had adjusted to the risky life of a pedestrian. You just had to be nonchalant about the speeding scooters and laden bikes and walk along roads or cross them with a confident certainty that you wouldn't get hit. Watching the vehicle action at a crossing you could see that the local scooter drivers had some sort of sixth scooter sense that allowed them to weave amongst each other so that traffic could move in all directions at the junction without anyone getting hit. The Hanoi population would make a great bike display team. Many others in the group were still really hesitant about moving around in the traffic and I often found myself alone on one side of the road as the rest hovered on the opposite pavement.

There was a break in the motorised mayhem when we headed off to a performance at the Water Puppet Theatre. Water puppetry is the Vietnamese contribution to the world of marionettes and was originally created out on the flooded paddy fields around the country's Red River delta. Here in Hanoi where there are no paddy fields the show takes place in a theatre where a pool of water acts as the stage. Hidden behind the bamboo curtains that surround the pool are the puppeteers, standing waist deep in the water, and manipulating the puppets with long poles hidden beneath the surface of the water. The hour long show included stories about local myths, depictions of rural life and versions of traditional dances. It's all a bit ridiculous while being rather endearing at the same time. My favourite part was the somersaulting swimming babies, the off spring of a dragon and Phoenix who had mated live on stage! You were allowed to take photos but this meant flashbulbs were popping every few seconds which rather ruined the atmosphere. I also had to ask the person in front of me to stop holding her camera high in the air to take pictures as she was completely blocking my view. Sometimes the touristy nature of a place can be dispiriting even when you know you're a tourist yourself.

The following day was devoted to exploring the world of Ho Chi Minh. Born in 1890 as Nguyen Sinh Cung, Ho is seen as the father of modern Vietnam although he preferred to be known by the affectionate sobriquet, Uncle Ho. From early on Ho was a committed communist who opposed the colonial control of his native country and risked arrest and exile to eventually lead the struggle for the reunification of North and South Vietnam. He died before this wish was finally achieved but he's hero-worshipped by the majority of Vietnamese for his dedication to the cause. My hazy grasp of this biography meant I was rather surprised during our visit to the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum. I thought it would just be another temple, built in tribute to the leader and full of statues and paeans to his achievements. But after being divested of our bags and cameras and practically marched into the building where sour faced soldiers told me off for talking I was confronted by the man himself. Despite expressly asking to be cremated on his death, his body was embalmed and preserved and he now resides in a glass coffin where the masses can file past him, gawking at his fresh looking corpse. While the visiting locals were clearly awed and emotional about this pilgrimage to their hero's last resting place, I was just unsettled. If the bearded fragile figure in the box is really the great Ho Chi Minh then it's sad that he hasn't been allowed to rest in peace but is subjected to daily scrutiny. He'd be spinning in his grave. If he had one. But as our little group left the building, the only subject of our hushed whispers was whether the body was genuine or an excellent wax work replica. Theories abound on the Internet and it's unlikely that the truth will ever be known but for those in awe of the man's memory I don't think the truth really matters.

The rest of the morning was used up in visiting the Presidential palace and Ho Chi Minh's much simpler cottage and stilt house behind it, before wandering around the Ho Chi Minh museum. I'm afraid the latter didn't hold my attention at all mostly because it seems to be designed for those who already know about every aspect of the man's life rather than those, like me, who need a good history lesson. So while my mind bypassed most of the exhibits I enjoyed people-watching - crowds of neatly attired school children huddled round each section while a large group of young military cadets took goofy pictures of each other posing next to various models. Kids and teenagers are the same the world over really.

More engaging was the Hoa Lo prison which was nicknamed the 'Hanoi Hilton' in the 60s by the American prisoners of war being held there. It was a satirical comment on both the harsh conditions they were being kept in and their brutal treatment at the hands of their gaolers. These prisoners were paraded on the TV to show the world how well they were being treated when that was far from true. US senator and Presidential nominee John McCain was held here after he was shot down over Hanoi. The museum in the prison includes access to some of the creepy isolation cells and also covers the period when anti-colonial protestors where incarcerated there by their French overlords. In chilling pride of place is the guillotine used to execute many of the prisoners.

Our final Hanoi sight was the Temple of Literature, a Confucian complex made up from interlocking courtyards and temple buildings. It was a haven of peace in the heart of noisy, restless Hanoi with some sweet turtle statues and the ceremonial hall where a large statue of the great man himself is still worshipped. This quiet corner offered a welcome break from the city's mania and a chance to gather ourselves before embarking on our second, and thankfully last, overnight train journey. The famed Reunification Express would be whisking us away from Hanoi and taking us further south to the Imperial city of Hue.

Still to come: Perfume rivers, more mausoleums and the bliss of a peaceful city.

Photos below: Hanoi street; beautiful Halong Bay; soldiers at Ho Chi Minh's tomb; Chinese writing at the temple of literature.

Welcome to Vang Vieng - all natural and smiling

Destinations, once reached, are almost inevitably a disappointment. The thrill is in the journey itself which still offers an expectant hope of those sights as yet unseen, those unexpected moments of discovery and surprise. This was certainly true of our road trip to Vang Vieng. More of the disappointment in the arrival later. The highlights were all in the travelling. From remote Hmong villages full of stilted houses and washing lines laden with brightly coloured laundry to wandering cows firmly taking possession of the middle of the road and refusing to budge. Then there was the whole village standing in a roadside field, all turned out for a funeral. Most disturbing of all was our first comfort break stop at a ramshackle cafe/shop where a small capuchin monkey was chained up for the entertainment of the passing trade. While that was upsetting enough for us Westerners what happened next was pure pornography. The over excited, and stir crazy, monkey grabbed at a small puppy that was playing nearby and began to enthusiastically 'violate' it. Inter-species breeding at a small roadside Laos snack bar definitely wasn't what I was expecting.

Unedifying as that was, it was thankfully soon forgotten as the scenery became increasingly spectacular. Limestone crags pushed up all around us. Jagged peaks like a bad dentistry job needing serious work done. From a distance the crags seemed to be swathed in dark green moss but these were actually trees, jungle thick. Not even the stomach grumbles signalling the onset of 'traveller's tummy' could detract from the beauty of this countryside. And there was even more of it on display when we finally reached a toilet to ease my discomfort. Except the view was through the non-existent fourth wall of the toilet cubicle. Pleasant enough until the odd photo hungry tourist started to wander by. Not sure who was more embarrassed, me or them!

And so to our arrival in Vang Vieng. It was accompanied by some off key singing from our local tour guide, Tuoi, who had already run the full gamut of the Michael Jackson and Celine Dion back catalogue. Seriously. It was painful to behold. With nothing left in his 80s repertoire Tuoi invented his own song to announce our arrival. So a bunch of slightly embarrassed tourists found themselves singing 'Welcome to Vang Vieng, welcome to Vang Vieng, all natural and smiling' without knowing what it really meant. Sadly, despite the musical welcome I instantly knew it was a town that was not for me. As we drove to our hotel there were nothing but bars, restaurants and guesthouses in sight. There wasn't a traditional shop or market stall anywhere to be seen.

A quick look in the guidebook revealed why. Vang Vieng had become the party capital of Laos when young backpackers flocked to take part in the 'tubing' scene. Tubing involves jumping onto a tractor inner tube and floating down the local river, stopping at each of the numerous riverside bars to down shots and get themselves body painted. The result? Streets full of drunken, wet, body painted tourists in skimpy bikinis, much to the disgust of the offended locals. And local bars springing up to cater for their drinking needs. But a wander down the town's one street in the early evening was eerily quiet and very few other tourists were around. Later that evening we discovered the tubing scene was no more. After a number of drunken tourists had drowned in the river and the locals complained about the indecent behaviour of visitors the local government had closed the riverside bars down and suddenly there were less tourists in town. Which is a shame as it was obvious that the surrounding countryside offered a whole host of 'adventure tourism' options - biking, hiking, caving, trekking. Some of this was already being touted but the town has some way go to reinvent itself and bring the visitors flooding back.

For the Ginger Broad and I our one day in the town brought a welcome chance to lie in then try out the spa just opened in a new hotel down the road. So it was a 2.5 hour herbal sauna, hot oil body scrub and aromatherapy massage for me at the grand total of £27. What a deal. The day ended with a meal at the local bakery and drinks next door at a small, indie bar with some live music and an amusing chat with a drunk Jamie Bamber lookalike who was trying to restart the tubing scene with some illegal bars at the river. Give it up son, it's not worth it.

The next morning, with a sigh of relief we left Vang Vieng behind us and headed to the Lao capital, Ventiane. It was an early start as we were keen to race the other Intrepid group, doing a Bangkok to Hanoi trip, to the next hotel. There had been some subterfuge the night before as we casually told the others that we'd be leaving at about 8.30 knowing full well we off at 7.30. We left them still breakfasting as our coach sped away, knowing this time we'd get the best hotel rooms. Petty? Yep, that's us.

Ventiane is probably the most relaxed capital city I've ever been to. Admittedly we only saw a tiny fraction of it but the people live life at a slow pace without any of the stressed out bustle of European capitals. That said, after weeks in smaller towns the amount of traffic on the streets was a bit daunting as hundreds of scooters sped by, ignoring most of the usual rules of the road. Getting across the main roads involved playing chicken with the scooters but Sam assured us that this was all good training for the mayhem that we'd find in Hanoi.

Our only scheduled event for the day was a visit to COPE - the Cooperative Orthotic Prosthetic Enterprise - which was initially set up to help provide prosthetic limbs for the hundreds of Laotians who are injured by unexplored ordinance dropped by the US during the 'Secret War'. My grasp of this section of history is hazy at best but as the US struggled with the battle for power between North and South Vietnam, they decided that blanket bombing large sections of Laos would disrupt the supply lines along the Ho Chi Minh trail. So between 1964 and 1973 over 2 million tonnes of bombs were dropped on the innocent Lao population. That's apparently equivalent to one plane dropping bombs every eight minutes for over 9 years. Sobering statistics. And large numbers of these bombs, including cluster bombs, lay hidden and unexploded in the Lao countryside. Adults and children alike have stumbled across them and been killed or injured and there's also an expanding black market for the scrap metal that can be salvaged from therm encouraging impoverished locals to risk their lives. So the work of COPE in providing prosthetic limbs is still, sadly, much in demand. The visitor's centre was fascinating, horrific and inspiring in equal measure. The group stuffed some dollars into the donation box and left in angry, disturbed silence.

After that we only really had half a day in Ventiane so the Ginger Broad, myself and a couple of the other girls decided we need a top up on our temple habit. So it was off to Wat Sisaket, the oldest temple in the city, built in 1818. By now most temples are starting to look the same but this one did have an impressive collection of Buddhas of all sizes lining the walls of the cloisters. While many were pretty bashed up, after numerous sackings of the city, they are still revered and cared for - each wrapped in it's own gold band of cloth. The once private Buddhist temple of the Lao King was our next destination although it's now a museum of art and antiquities. The collection itself was a bit underwhelming especially as there weren't many labels to tell you what you were looking at but the venue has it's own interesting history. It was once the home of the Pha Kaew, or Emerald Buddha, that we'd seen in Bangkok not long ago. The statue had been stolen by the Siamese back in 1779 and never returned, much to the chagrin of the Lao Buddhists. As a Brit I can't really judge them. If the British Museum returned everything we had pilfered over the years, there would be a very large empty property available for rent in Bloomsbury.

Our final stop in Ventiane was That Luang. Which Luang? That one. (Apologies - my jokes do not get any better). This huge golden stupa is considered Lao's most important religious building and has become its national symbol. I'm sure it's very impressive. Unfortunately we arrived just as it was locking up for lunch. Something our tuk-tuk driver curiously omitted to mention. Still we wandered the walls and took a few snaps from a distance so we sort of saw it.

But there was no time for regrets as we were leaving Laos behind us to head to Vietnam. I have really enjoyed our time in Laos, the country I knew least about. It's a beautiful country of contrasts and I just wish we had more time to explore its remoter regions. For now though it's good night Laos and good morning Vietnam.

Photos below: the group on the road to Vang Vieng (with a couple of interlopers); cluster bombs at the COPE centre; That Luang stupa

Pachyderms, paper and pirouettes

An early start, rising while it was still dark and creeping around the bedroom trying not to wake the Ginger Broad. For while she was going to enjoy a lie-in, I was off for an encounter with some elephants. Laos still has some elephants living wild in its jungles and others are domesticated to work alongside their human masters as beasts of burden. But when they grow too old or tired to be profitable elephants are often abandoned or killed. Elephant Village, a project run by a German resident in Laos with the support of the government, rescues these abandoned creatures and cares for them until their death. These elephants have also become a popular tourist attraction and the village offers the chance to see them up close and have a ride. As the rides for that day were actually fully booked, Sam (our guide) managed to swing getting us in before the village was officially opened. So myself and four others from the group had the village and the elephants to ourselves. Although we were a bit worried the pachyderms might resent our early arrival as we did seem to be interrupting their breakfast.

We had to climb a wooden tower so we'd be at the right height to climb onto the double seats on the elephant's back and once in, a wooden bar was put in front of us, much like a rollercoaster but in large grey mammalian form. And then off we went on our pachyderm taxi, rocking side to side with our driver's walking motion. We each had a mahout (elephant driver/keeper) sitting on his charge's shoulders who shouted encouragement and delivered an occasional gentle tap behind the ear to stop our ride snacking on the way. Heading down a steep path towards the nearby river Nicola and I almost slid off our seats as we stepped into the water up to our elephant's knees, luckily not our own. Moving through the water was a strange experience - we couldn't see the elephant's legs moving but we could see the land passing us by - the result was almost sea sickness so we were quite glad when we were back on dry land. By now our mahout, Mr Mee, had given control of our elephant to Nicola who was sitting on his neck, scratching his head enthusiastically and clearly loving every second of it (well, she is a vet). I took a quick ride on his neck as well but was a little happier to return to my seat.

Another quick dip in the river and we were heading back to the village through the narrow streets of a local village. Clearly a common sight there, the elephants were treated to some snacks from the local people and a song from there mahouts which was quite ethereal in the misty morning air. Then things took a bit of a turn for the worst when a clutch of runaway wild horses start to barrel towards us alongside a dumper truck tipping its noisy load of stones into the street. None of this was appreciated by the elephants who started to back away and began trumpeting loudly. While Mr Mee managed to keep our ride under control, the ones behind us also began smacking their trunks onto the ground creating a huge cracking sound. Mr Mee enthusiastically told us 'happy elephants, happy elephants' but that clearly wasn't true and being stuck on the back of an angry stampeding elephant hadn't been included on my itinerary. After a while the elephants calmed down and we took them back to the camp to feed them some bananas. Feeding them meant getting quite up close and personal to the business end of the beast and after a few nervous false starts we all managed to feed them happily, their trunks weaving around us as they tried to smell out the next snack. This has been the highlight of my trip so far - I've always had a soft spot for Dumbo and his ilk so the chance to spend some quality time with them was priceless.

After experiencing such a great 'once in a lifetime' moment it was time to give something back. One of the group had heard about LP's local library looking for help so we sought it out in town to see if there was anything we could do to help. We discovered the library ran a literacy programme for children in some of the remoter villages. For the same price as a frappucino back home we could buy three books and some pencils or crayons that would then be sent out in 'book bags' to help the children learn to read. Not a difficult thing to do and one that left you with a little glow of good deeds achieved.

To round off our busy, but final, day in LP some of us headed to the town's royal palace, the home of it's Royal Ballet. Every evening the ballet trainees perform hour long excerpts from ???, the Lao equivalent of the Mahabarata. We saw episode 4 or 'The Princess is offered the ring'. Putting aside all smutty thoughts of what this could mean, we actually saw a very stylised form of dance which mixes the precise small hand gestures of the women with the large, OTT posturing of the masked men playing the animal princes of the story. Luckily a handout in English explained the story otherwise we might have been a bit lost. It seems the Princess had been imprisoned by an evil overlord who wanted to assault her virtue. She resisted his advances as best she could but soon thought that suicide might be the only option. Just as she was tying a noose in a nearby tree, preparing to hang herself, Hanaman, a monkey god who loved her from afar intervened to save her. He offered her his ring (no sniggering at the back) and, happily, she accepted. The same story has been told a million different ways the world over. Some things in life are universal. Appreciation of ballet isn't however and although I enjoyed seeing a new facet of Lao culture the philistine in me was quite relieved when the hour was up.

Sadly it was time to say goodbye to Luang Prabang, the most atmospheric and appealing city we've visited so far. Although there are many tourists in its streets it still has the feel of the genuine Laos about it. Let's just hope that the expansion of its small airport later this year won't destroy that forever. I'll certainly be back if it doesn't. Goodbye Luang Parabang. Hello Vang Vieng.

Photos below: Feeding the elephants; Laos Royal Ballet

From all the gang in Luang Prabang

There must be something about sleeping under a mosquito net that is conducive to a good slumber. My first experience was on my trip to Peru many years ago when a night in the Amazon rainforest was on the cards. There our cabins were right in the heart of the jungle and open to the elements where the walls didn't meet the roof so the night time noises of insects and animal calls seemed to promise broken sleep. But once cocooned under the bed's mosquito net I was quickly in the land of nod and awoke refreshed and ready to face a new day. The same was true of my first night in Luang Prabang - a mossie net bed in a wooden bungalow led to a great night of peaceful, unbroken sleep. Unbroken that was, until about 4am when the rhythmic drums from all the surrounding temples began their wake up call for the monks. Poor monks. Not being a monk myself I simply stuffed my ear plugs in and went back to sleep.

Our first stop in LP was the Traditional Arts and Ethnology Centre which aims to unravel some of the complex ethnic groupings that constitute Lao's multi-layered make up. For the Laos aren't just one homogenous body of people - there are made up of many different tribes, including the Akha, Hmong and Khmu, who each have their own long history of tradition and beliefs. The museum took aspects of Lao life - dress, family structure, courtship and marriage - and approached them from the angle of one of the distinct 'tribes'. For instance, the Hmong people still use an ancient ritual when a young couple start to court each other. The woman makes a small red bag which she embroiders with intricate detail to show off her sewing skills. She then cooks a chicken, to demonstrate her skill there too, and places it in the bag which is then dispatched to the family of her male admirer. If the man's family approve of her, and are impressed by her ability in sewing and cooking, the bag is filled with bracelets and other trinkets and returned to her, in a sign of the family's willingness to accept her in marriage. If the bag returns empty, then ... it's time to start looking for a new beau. Dating in the western world would be a whole lot simpler if we adopted the same practice. I wonder if Benedict Cumberbatch needs a bag full of chicken?

Courting couples also try to get round the watchful attention of their chaperones by using a mouth harp. The man stands outside the window of his beloved and plays the mouth harp while talking through it. This is supposed to disguise his romantic wooing from the girl's family while being understood by the girl herself, who talks back to him the same way. Presumably the fact that the couple's parents, grand parents and great grand parents also wooed in the same way and can therefore understand the coded language is ignored in the interests of a good romantic story. I had a go at using the mouth harp and realised that I'd probably be on the shelf in Laos the same way I am everywhere else.

If anybody's passions had been enflamed with tales of steamy Lao courtship, they'd have certainly been cooled by our next destination - the Kouang Si waterfall. With a 60m drop, the fall is impressive and set in a lush location which would have been much more beautiful without the fat American tourist who ignored the 'no swimming' sign and plunged into the pool underneath. The water flowed into crystal blue pools staggered into lower layers, including several which are possible to swim in. The water was freezing though so only a couple of the more hardy members of our group took the plunge. They, at least, paid attention to both the words of our guide and the signs surrounding the pools, which ask for swimmers to dress decently in shorts and t-shirts. The Lao people are a modest bunch and the skimpy bikinis and budgie smugglers of the other tourists in the pool offend their sense of decency and morality. Watching a gang of British lads pose for a sarcastic photo next to one of the signs made me realise, with a sinking feeling, that our bad reputation as travellers is often well deserved. A depressing thought.

The thriving, colourful night market in LP was enough to lift my spirits again and drain my purse. From 4pm every afternoon half of LP's very long main road is taken over by local women selling all types of handicrafts - silver jewellery, embroidered bags and purses, quilts, paintings, carved wood, shoes, trousers and soft toys. For any shopaholic it's a dream and even for those of a less commercial persuasion, like me, there's something to tempt the moths out of your wallet. I'm a sucker for silver earrings and managed to haggle my way to a pair of elephants and a pair of fishes. Bigger purchases and gifts for those at home will have to wait until a bit nearer the end of the trip to avoid having my bag explode en route.

If you manage to drag your feet beyond the end of the market and onto the remaining half of the main road, there's the French colonial architecture to admire. Many of the balconied, colonnaded stucco mansions left intact have now been converted into swish hotels or fancy restaurants but at night when the trees outside are hung with fairy lights and the interiors are swathed in shade, you can just about imagine the houses as they once were - aristocratic, elitist and alluring. I was definitely born in the wrong era. And class. Our nighttime wander through the streets came to rather an odd end when we reached the park at the end of the peninsula on which the town sits. Rather reluctant to explore a shadowy park during darkness we were hovering around the entrance deciding whether to go back the way we came or take a different route when a orange robe attired monk suddenly appeared out of nowhere. After asking us where we came from and hearing 'England' as the answer, the monk then gestured to us to follow him into the park. Now my mother always taught me never to go with strangers and saffron-robed monks were no exception. The Ginger Broad and I said a polite 'no thank you' (my mother also taught me to always be polite, even to potential sex offenders) and scurried off not daring to look back.

That's all from your correspondent in Luang Prabang for now. More on elephants, libraries and ballet to follow.

Photos below: Our balcony at Thongbay Guest House; Akha tribal skirts; the Kouang Si waterfall; nighttime French Colonial Luang Prabang.

Slow boat to China ... sorry, Laos

Readers of previous posts, and those who have known me for a while, will remember that I'm not a big fan of boat journeys. Traumatic memories of being dragged, kicking and screaming, as a child onto river cruises still haunt me and although I have been on a mediterranean cruise, I suspect it was the copious amount of white wine that I consumed that got me through it. So those days in the itinerary of this trip that involve getting on a water-borne craft are marked with a big red circle, in my subconscious at least. And two whole days spent doing nothing but sailing got a few red exclamation marks as well.

But it turns out I had nothing to fear. While the 'slow boats' that ply the Mekong river route from Huay Xai to Luang Prebang are often jammed with locals and tourists, taking on more passengers than is comfortable or safe, our group were lucky enough to have one boat all to ourselves. As well as being a tourist carrier, these long boats with covered roofs, bathrooms and kitchens, are also the homes of the families that operate them. So were asked to be respectful, to remove our shoes and not put our feet on the seats, especially as in this part of SE Asia pointing your feet at anyone is considered very rude.

And the river Mekong is a pretty smooth ride most of the time, although the wash from a passing speed boat (doing the same journey in half the time but in much more dangerous style) occasionally set us bobbing a bit. The boat had old car seats screwed in place for the passengers and tables where we could spread out, read and eat our lunch cooked on board.

At first the route downriver put Thailand on one side and Laos on the other but we had soon headed inland and left Thailand behind. The lush jungle on either side of us was pretty thick and often came right down to the water so there wasn't much action on the banks. Occasionally the jungle would clear away to a sandy slope where we would see locals doing their washing or checking their fishing traps. But it was quiet, with little human or animal life to see, as, we were told, most of them take refuge higher up on the hills of the jungle that spread out beyond the river banks. We got an opportunity to see this for ourselves when we stopped at a small hill tribe village. In part it was a step back in time with wooden and wicker huts on stilts providing most of the accommodation and work space. Goods are moved by hand, or more correctly head, with bags and baskets carried on straps that let the forehead take the weight. Villagers work in the immediate area around their homes and there's little movement outside of their small group. But there are also modern conveniences - electricity cabled in from generators for lighting, television and radio and the ubiquitous mobile phones.

While seeing the village and the lifestyle was fascinating I also felt like an interloper, a voyeur, gawping at the locals as if they were animals in a zoo. I took some photos but not very many and all of us asked people if we could snap their picture before doing so and showing it to them afterwards. The children seemed to love the attention and were happy giggling with each other and gawping at these strange foreigners, but the adults were clearly less happy with the intrusion. And I can understand why - swap the situation to Europe and how many of us would be happy for a bunch of unannounced strangers arriving in our home towns to take pictures of our children? It all felt very uncomfortable and even if great photo opportunities were missed I, and I think everyone else, was glad to return to our boat and leave the village to return to normal.

The Mekong meandered on through jungle and limestone cliffs before bringing us to Pakbeng. This was our stop for the night as the Mekong is too dangerous to sail after dark and all boats pull in to this half way house. Our accommodation was, shall we say, basic and the town was nothing more than one street filled with guesthouses and shops but it had a frontier feel about it and is not the tourist trap hell you'd expect from somewhere that everyone has to stop. We had dinner in an Indian restaurant which wouldn't have been worth mentioning apart from two things. First, it gave me my first taste of 'lao lao' the local rice whiskey which tastes closer to grappa than sake and is enough to set your throat on fire. So I downed mine pretty quickly. Second, even travelling half way round the world doesn't free you from facing stereotypical 'Brits abroad' behaviour. A group of English lads sat on a table near to us and proceeded to get drunk, swear loudly and call out rudely to the staff. It was embarrassing and horrible and I felt the need to apologise to the non-Brits in our group for the awful behaviour. The people from these regions are very quiet and shy (in a sweeping generalisation) but these lads had no respect for that or for the sensitivities of the local population. Shame on them and, sadly, by reflection, on us.

We tried to restore some sense of pride in ourselves by heading to the one and only karaoke bar in town where one small group of local lads were quietly enjoying drinking beerlao and singing romantic numbers. Quite what they thought of 7 foreign women storming in and belting out a rather stirring rendition of 'I Will Survive' is impossible to tell. (Don't judge us for the choice of song, it was the only English one they had).

The next day it was back on our boat for a full day of sailing the second half of the Mekong. We sailed pretty much straight through for a full nine hours but it was much colder on the water so everyone was bundled up in coats and blankets trying to keep warm. Near the end of the day we stopped at the Pak Ou, or Buddha, caves. A couple of riverside grottos filled with old or damaged buddhas, placed there by local villagers when they are no longer any use. It would be bad karma to throw them away so the buddhas are stored at the caves and, every New Year, some are selected for respectful cleaning. It makes quite a sight to see hundreds of gold, silver and bronze buddhas lined up in the cave's various levels, some barely visible in the gloom.

And then it was disembarking time at Luang Prabang - a UNESCO World Heritage site since 1995 and a city with an old heart that is filled with French-Indochinese buildings, reflecting both its French colonial past and its Lao roots. More of the city itself in a later post but that evening held some treats of its own. First, our best accommodation to date at Thongbay Guest House. Set some way from the city centre, the Guest House is made up of individual wooden bungalows on stilts, set around a lush tropical garden and with river views for some. This is the sort of Indochina bedroom I wanted - large beds draped with mosquito nets and a balcony to sprawl on to enjoy the serenity of the location. Perfect. There wasn't much time to enjoy it though as we were soon off again for dinner at the local market. Here you really eat as the locals do. In a narrow alleyway large tables heave under the weight of a panoply of dishes - duck, chicken, wood pigeon, tofu, spring rolls, noodles, vegetables - you just grab a plate and dive in. One plate costs the same no matter how much you pile it up! When you've buried your plate in food you grab a seat wherever you can find one in the many that line the opposite wall. No problem if the table is already partly occupied, just smile at your fellow diners and wade in. It was a brilliant insight into local life and the food wasn't half bad either (although part of me was wondering if it might come back to haunt me).

So we're settled in Luang Prabang (I just love saying that name) for now and there are tales of night markets, dodgy monks and elephant rides still to come. Stay tuned.

Photos below: Slow boats on the Mekong, Lao children at a hill tribe village, on our slow boat, buddhas at the Pak Ou caves.

Strangers on a train ...

Our journey north out of Bangkok was via the sleeper train to Chaing Mai. While the first class passengers got individual cabins and smartly dresses porters to carry their luggage aboard those of us in the cheap seats at the back had to throw our bags up the carriage steps and prepare to sleep with a bunch of strangers. The carriage had pairs of seats all the way down both sides but when night came bunks would be pulled down from the ceiling and the seats below pulled together to make another bed. Thin curtains were all that separated you and your best pyjamas from the rest of the passengers. But before sleeping it was time to hit the karaoke bogie car. Sadly the karaoke was only a name and not a chance to murder a few classics but the dining car cum bar had some disco lights and enthusiastic waiters who were up for a bit off a bop.

One shandy was enough for me before the lure of the bottom bunk called and I clambered behind my little curtain. For a night of no sleep. It was, oddly, a rather pleasant night though - lying back and listening to the rhythmic bumps and clangs of the train and the snoring of other curtain shrouded travellers. Watching the sun rise through the misty haze of northern Thailand while quietly cocooned in my own little bunk was also just a little bit magical. The following attempt to use a squat toilet with a door that wouldn't lock on a fast moving train was a little less special.

Chaing Mai is Thailand's second city and you'd certainly believe that from the main road outside our hotel which, if you wanted to visit the old town on the other side, involved playing a game of chicken with the endless stream of cars, lorries, scooters and tuk tuks. Why did two red headed tourists cross the road? To see more temples of course! I have to confess that I found Chaing Mai a bit of a disappointment but that might be because I have a European preconception about 'old towns' and city centres. Thailand doesn't have the grand open squares of the European capitals and while the dusty warren of this city's small roads held some charm, the modern way of life with it's accompanying cables, plastic litter and neon signage distanced you from any real sense of the place's tradition or history.

An early evening tour of the Doi Suthep temple high on a mountain above the city provide a good dose of tradition though as we rang the temple bells for good luck, were blessed with a sprinkling of holy water and given woven bracelets which we need to wear until they fall they off to ensure good karma. As the sun set over the temple, and our last night in Thailand, the huge golden stupa started to glow in the dusk light, and echoing with the chanting of the monks at evening prayer the temple was suffused with an air of isolated serenity.

At the opposite end of the scale was Chaing Mai's night market. More handicrafts, silver jewellery, wooden carvings, pashminas than you could shake a stick at plus a strange demonstration of ice cream making which used a flat plate like those used to make crepes but supercooled rather than superheated. We dined outside at a market restaurant packed with fresh fish and live crabs and lobster. My squid dish was so fresh it melted away in my mouth unlike the chewy fare you often get in the UK.

The evening ended at an outdoor bar complete with ladyboy cabaret. The performers had been parading round the market to promote the show with their elaborate feathered headdresses and revealing sparkly costumes. The show ran the well established canon of iconic gay cabaret songs - Dancing Queen, I Am What I Am and It's Raining Men - and while it was all good fun I couldn't help thinking that some of the dancer boys looked so young they should have been at home with their mums.

A road trip was next on the itinerary as we headed further north east to the Thai/Laos border. Our long journey - full of naps and iPod time - was broken twice. Once when we stopped at a cashew nut producer. We were shown the nuts growing from their fruits in the trees. Only one nut per fruit, which has to go through a long process of drying, heating and more drying before it can be cracked carefully open by hand, trying to avoid the poisonous film of rubber which warns off predators. I'd always wondered why cashew nuts were so expensive. Now I know.

Our second stop took us to an elaborate modern temple designed and built in the 70s by a now exiled artist. It's a strange beast of a temple - white stucco, studded with silver and pieces of mirror - which from a distance looks like a fantasy fairy tale castle with peaked roofs and dragon gates. But on closer inspection it's a whole lot more macabre. Severed heads hang from nearby trees, in a pit disembodied hands reach up to the sky as if clamouring to escape and twisted snakes swallow other snakes in a reptilian version of 'The Human Centipede'. Inside, the mural paintings depict the usual Buddhas and monks but amongst them are littered some monsters of the modern world - George Bush and Bin Laden, Freddie Krueger and the burning Twin Towers. And Michael Jackson?

Stories as to why the creator of such a twisted fantasy was exiled are contradictory - some say the King feared the man's growing popularity especially when he espoused a less traditional view of Buddhism. Others that the king still loved him and the exile was self-imposed. Either way he's certainly left a talking point behind him.

After more minibus time we finally hit the Thai border with neighbouring Laos. After going through Thai immigration control we had to cross the No Man's Land of the Mekong river by tiny paddle boat to enter Laos on the opposite bank. First impressions of a new country should never be taken from its border towns and the dusty one street strip of Huay Xai was no exception. Dinner at a local riverside restaurant included a barbecue where some of the group cooked their own chicken or beef on a metal pan above a charcoal fire pit, filling the pan's dipped edge with broth, noodles and veg which soaked up the meat's flavour. It was theatre and dinner Rolled into one. Our guesthouse for the night consisted of small bamboo wicker huts on stilts where every noise outside seemed to be right in the room with us but it offered the deepest, most peaceful night of sleep I've had on this trip so far. Things bode well for Laos.

Next up - a slow boat down the Mekong.

Photos below: on our sleeper train to Chaing Mai; monks at evening prayer at Doi Suthep; Ladyboy cabaret at Chaing Mai night market.

From tranquility to chaos ...

Since I'd bought my guidebook to Bangkok the one place that had leapt out of its pages was Jim Thompson's house. Named with such authority, I felt a bit ashamed that I didn't know who he was but the pictures in the guide book were seductive enough to intrigue me. So the Ginger Broad and I hopped in a metered cab and headed out of the small central core of Bangkok that had so far been our domain. The ride proved yet again that for us Westerners life in Bangkok can be lived very cheap. A 30 min cab ride that any cabbie in London would have charged £30 to make, cost us around £2.80. While the benefit of such low costs to my holiday budget is great, it also carries a burden of guilt and I grow less and less comfortable with haggling over 20 or 30 baht when it is no more than 40p to me but the equivalent of a good meal for a tuk tuk driver.

Our arrival at Jim Thompson's house couldn't help but dispel such thoughts however as it's a breath-takingly tranquil haven in the heart of a manic, polluted and chaotic city. A little bit of background first - Jim Thompson was in the US Army during WWII who visited Thailand as part of his tour of duty. While in Bangkok he spotted some woven silk at a market and found that it was the work from one of the last places in Thailand that still wove silk by hand. He was so delighted by it that he single handedly worked to promote the material across the world and when the fashion houses of London, Milan, Paris, New York etc started to snap it up, Thompson had saved an artisan craft that had been close to disappearing for ever.
In 1959 Thompson bought himself some land by one of Bangkok's khlongs (canals) and moved six traditional wooden Thai houses to site, combining them into one large home which he soon packed with antiques, traditional local art and beautiful object d'art. Less than 10 years later Thompson himself mysteriously vanished while walking in Malaysia and was never seen again. Conspiracy theories abound - did business rivals, communist spies or the CIA bump him off? Or maybe a man-eating tiger took him out? Who knows?

What we do know is that he left behind him a stunning example of traditional Thai building with a Western twist. Made from teak, the main living rooms are on the first floor where the large doors and windows open up wide to let through the cooling breeze. The sitting room is open all along one side with low cushioned seats to sprawl out on while sipping iced tea. Every room is full of the most beautiful paintings, statues and Thai oddities including a mouse house, built to race painted mice for casual gamblers, and chamber pots for little girls and boys shaped like frogs or sleighs. Thompson added his own touches by breaking the space up into individual rooms whereas Thai families would have had the house as one large open space. But he also turned the house inside out - putting the exterior walls inside to expose the large supporting beams as decorative features and turning carved window edges around so they could be admired from inside.

The house is exquisite and made more beautiful by the small tropical garden surrounding it - a little maze of pathways where you stumble across a stone pool filled with fish and turtles or a large flower urn where a single carp floats around on his own. For me, this visit was a real highlight of Bangkok - a chance to escape the noise and dirt and pretend you lived in a long lost world of cocktails and chaise longue, naps on day beds and dressing for dinner. Sigh.

I think our next destination would have been a shock to the senses wherever you came from, but after the peacefulness of JT's house it was a bit mind-blowing. It was Bangkok's weekend market at Chatuchak - a melting pot of a million stalls selling everything from knickers to knick-knackers, fish to deep fat fryers. Once you've ventured into the narrow alleyways it's impossible not to get turned around and lose all sense of direction or structure. Apparently there is some coherent scheme to the whole thing - clothes here, household items there - but it's certainly impossible for any newcomer to fathom. I was keen to find the antiques and handicrafts section but we'd landed in the pets zone and found it almost impossible to escape. From huge bags filled with water and pet fish, to cages containing kittens, puppies, hamsters, chipmunks and hedgehogs, all life really was here. The Ginger Broad found it all a bit distressing, which is understandable as it's so far from anything that would be allowed in the UK, but at least these animals were being sold as pets and not for the dinner table. And we fortunately never stumbled upon one of the illegal cockfights that often take place.

But we did stumble gamely on through the alleyways, even though we were both in danger of being struck down with 'Chatuchak rage' - the foul mood brought on by too long in the sweaty, sauna like market maze without sufficient food or drink. We eventually caved in and found an air conditioned cafe for sustenance before heading back to our hotel.

For Saturday evening meant the start of our group tour proper and the chance to meet the rest of our party and our tour guide. There was much confusion in the hotel lobby as about 3 different Intrepid tours were starting from the same point at the same time. It was like speed dating for tourists as we moved among the various holiday makers introducing ourselves and asking 'Indochina Loop?'. We'd eventually gathered our group of 10 - 7 women travelling on their own, one married couple and a Chilean gentleman. Everyone seems very nice and friendly - let's just hope that lasts for 4 weeks. A duration that may test even the best fellow traveller bon homie.

Sunday was our only guided day in Bangkok and it started with something that I had been dreading since we arrived. The Ginger Broad and I had taken a stroll by Bangkok's main river, Mae Nam Chao Phraya, earlier in the week and I had been surprised by how choppy a river could be and how small the boats on it were. Most of you will know that as a non-swimmer I am, quite frankly, terrified of small boats (Cardiff Park lake anyone?) and it was only the fact that a tour of Bangkok's canals by long tailed boat was included that I even considered it for half a second. The tour started from a point further up river that was much calmer so I was fooled into thinking it would all be just as calm. And for much of the time it was. Our little long tail canoe boat, with an engine the size of a small jet plane's sped through the canals, with ease and very few bumps. We past the canal side shacks and houses that were home to many Bangkok residents, all now being put behind low walls to protect them from the floods that had struck the city in ????. Also resident were some huge monitor lizards, basking on porches and walls.

The end of the tour crossed the main river again and it was like hitting the open sea. Our little boat bounced all over the place and I spent a few minutes with my eyes closed and my life jacket carefully clutched about my person. We made it safely to dock of course but my little legs were never happier to hit solid ground.

And my little legs certainly seemed very little at our next stop, Wat Pho. This Wat, or temple, has several credits to its name, including the oldest and largest wat in Bangkok and the largest reclining Buddha in Thailand. This golden buddha is so large that there's no way to photograph it in one go - at 46m long and 15m high it's too big for my lens at least. And it's spectacular and beautiful and rather charming. Apparently this reclining pose is the one buddha struck shortly before dying and achieving Nirvana so he wears a blissfully contented smile. I don't think I have even the remotest chance of reaching nirvana but I gave throwing coins into the 180 wishing bowls a go. One coin and one wish for every bowl. Perhaps this week will bring that elusive lottery win?

There was just time for one last Bangkok massage before saying goodbye to the city. As my flip flops had left me with a delightful blood blister I thought a foot massage might not be a good idea so opted for a neck and head one instead. The following half an hour was one of the most excruciating of my life as I was pummelled mercilessly and my bones cracked under the onslaught. I didn't know it was physically possible to bend completely in half.

So it's time to leave Bangkok. A riot of colour and noise. An assault on all the senses with pockets of quiet Buddhist tranquility. It's been a blast but I'm ready for something a little more chilled. After a night on a sleeper train ...


Photos below: flower garland at Jim Thompson's house; fishes at Chatuchak market; the reclining Buddha at Wat Phra Kaew.

Sawat dee from Bangkok

2 cab rides, 2 flights, 4 dubious plane meals, 2.5 rubbish films, 1 dodgy moment in Mumbai and 21 hours on the go and finally I'm in Thailand's chaotic, heaving capital, Krungthep mahanakhon amonratanakosin mahintra ayuthaya mahadilock popnoparat ratchathani burirom udomratchaniwet mahasathan amonpiman avatansathit sakkathattiya witsanukamprasit. Or Bangkok as it's, thankfully, better known. The big mango.

The journey here was tedious and mostly uneventful apart from (a) the Ginger Broad managing to get lost. In Heathrow Terminal 4. Which is basically one long strip mall. Without any corners. There were too many WH Smiths apparently. And (b) a narrow escape from a missed connection at Mumbai airport when security took a dislike to my hand luggage and decide to scan it three times as well as emptying out most of the contents looking for the phantom cigarette lighter they were convinced I had. The guilty culprit was an electric mosquito bite zapper I'd bought at Heathrow which is tiny and looks nothing like a lighter. I fear I rather lost my sense of humour, although not my temper, at the confusion. Well it was one o'clock in morning and our connecting flight was due to leave in 10 mins. Luckily though this was India and the flight was running as late as we were.

The two weary travellers didn't stray too far from the air conditioning and free wifi of our first hotel that afternoon, although we did take a little time to explore a few roads of the surrounding Banglamphu area including the notorious Th Khao San. Made famous in Alex Garland's book, 'The Beach' and the Leonardo di Caprio film of the same name, Khao San Road is a manic mish mash of trashy street market, low budget guesthouses, music-blaring bars and tourists of every nationality wandering amidst the stalls of Ali Baba trousers and grilled mushrooms. It's certainly an assault on the senses, especially after dark when the neon signs glare over your head and the music is cranked up a notch or two. So what can two red-headed Brits with tired eyes and aching muscles do? Head to the nearest pavement massage parlour, of which there are many to choose from, and have a 30 min foot massage for the extortionate price of £2.50. Podiatric bliss.

For our first full day in the city it was time to hit the sight-seeing trail (with a minor detour along a 3 lane mega-highway. It's very easy to get lost in a city when you have no hope of reading a road sign). We stumbled upon the local amulet market - a covered nest of alleys where all the stalls sell glass, wood and metal icons, apparently prized by monks, taxi drivers and those in dangerous jobs. The tiny amulets must have numbered in their millions - tiny eggs under glass, Buddhas in glass vials filled with perfumed oil, metal figures and wooden orbs. The Ginger Broad took a liking to one little wooden carving and picked it up for closer inspection only to rapidly drop it when she realised it was a phallus. She's now worried she might be pregnant. Fertility icons were certainly prevalent with one bowl full of metal figures twisted together in all sorts of explicit poses. Although my personal favourite was the kama sutra tea towel. An ideal gift for your Gran.

Soiled by such filth, I'm surprised they even let us into one of Thailand's most sacred Buddhist sights, the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew (or Temple of the Emerald Buddha). They did object to our outrageous ankles and shoulders though so we had to cover up with rented sarongs.

Wat Phra Kaew is a gaudy explosion of gold and coloured mosaics which cover every inch of the surfaces of the various temple complex buildings. Fantastical glowering armed giants guard the different gateways by looming large over visitors. Inside the main hall of worship there's so much gold it's hard not to be blinded and it would certainly be easy to miss the little chap for whom all this fuss is being made. The Emerald Buddha is tiny, high up and not Emerald. He's actually carved from jade but he does have his own wardrobe of clothes. He has a hand made jacket for each of the cold, hot and rainy seasons and the King himself does the dressing up job. So I guess that makes him pretty special.

Wonderful as all this was, hours of wandering around in 33 degree heat (sorry Londoners) is energy sapping so it was time to experience a Bangkokian transport icon - the tuk tuk. All I can say is I'm glad I've got good health insurance and nerves of steel. Although the latter faltered a bit when we zipped across a junction oblivious to the wave of on-coming cars and when our driver decided traffic jams just weren't his thing and simply raced down the opposite side of the road.

There was a quick side trip to the street that caters for the every need of the Buddhist monk. Need a saffron robe? Get it here. Need a Buddhist umbrella? Get it here. Need a scarily life like, full size waxwork of a famous monk? Get it here. Need a Buddhist bucket full of Buddhist treats (soap, coffee, toothpaste)? Yep, you can get it here too. It's a veritable cornucopia of good karma.

But that was just about enough excitement for this redhead in one day so it was time for a drink, a meal. Oh and another foot massage. Did I mention they're only £2.50?

Next on the Bangkok diaries ... a trip to an architectual gem and a market that doubles as a sauna. Stay tuned.