Muang Sing

Evergreen highland forests, fog filled valleys, jungle waterfalls and timeless mountain villages await those travellers willing to sacrifice comfort in a bid to experience the "real Laos". Tucked away in the northern province of Hua Phan, the tiny town of Muang Sing was our next stop - and boy is this place remote!

Our bums are still recovering from the gruelling 11 hour bus trip to Luang Namtha. Though just 300km north of Luang Prabang roads, where they exist, in the north are so poor all forms of transport are arduous and tiresome. Overnight in Namtha we jumped an early morning tuk-tuk and joined a host of smelly tribesmen for the two hour journey into the heart of rural Laos. On arrival we immediately questioned the rationale behind our decision!

Less than five minutes out of the tuk-tuk, and still looking for a room, we were met head on by several aging women from the Akha tribe -a Tibeto-Burmen speaking ethnic group - keen to offload their latest stash of opium. Despite a government crackdown, that's seen Laos' yield of the illicit drug fall by 30pc, the country still produces some 160 tonnes a year. As a consequence villages have been ravaged by the drug. Women and children seem to fulfil every imaginable task, including pedalling the drug, while the entire male population light up and melt into their hammocks!

Eager to avoid a hefty stint in a Laos prison we made our excuses and strolled on into the dusty town (it's just a single street) in search of a room. Success - a flee bitten hovel on the main drag - came cheap at 3 dollars a night. Joining us for a refreshing Beer Lao were Londoners Sarah and Luke, whose revelry we enjoyed until late into the night.

Keen to explore the surrounding countryside we splurged a couple of dollars to hire bikes and headed off in the mid-day sun in search of the Laos-China border. A picturesque 11km ride north afforded us ample opportunity to sample traditional Laos life, our time spread among visits to Akha, Tai Dam (originate from north Vietnam), Hmong (renowned for their herbal medicines and knowledge of the land) and Yao tribal areas to watch the communities at work.

Though shut off from the rest of Laos, these communities are so warm and hospitable to outsiders. They are among the most interesting and humble people we've met to date. Decked out in traditional, embroidered dress the women work tirelessly (be it in the production of rice, melons, or simple day-to-day chores like washing), forever shadowed by their young children who, by the age of four or five, are expected to follow in their footsteps. Regrettably, in the province four in 10 adult males are opium addicts rendering them useless at all times!

Aside from the rural communities, what also makes this area so inviting is the food. Though less varied than Indian and less spicy than Thai, Laos cuisine is among the best in SE Asia. Jeow, a local chilli paste made with crushed tamarind, peanut, ginger and lime, is deemed "lord of the table" and accompanies just about anything edible. Muang Sing Khao Soy is a gloriously fresh rice-noodle soup full to the brim with steamed pork and veg topped with a spicy soybean and pork paste. Larp, like the Thai Lab, is heaven. A minced meat seasoned with lemon grass and ground rice kernels. Everything, and I mean everything, is joined by "sticky rice", a different grain first soaked in water then steamed.

Given the amazing array of greens that dominate the landscape, not to mention remarkable yields of fruit and veg, it's difficult to accept - despite what those who survived the Blitz might say - Laos' dubious honour of being the world's most bombed country. During the Vietnam War, the US waged a secret bombing campaign in Laos to destroy Viet Cong supply routes and bases in the country - which resulted in more than a million bombs being dropped over a nine year period.

Luang Namtha and the joys of public transport

There's only so many "authentic" Laos experiences the mind can take before it starts to crave normality. For us, two days of opium pedalling pensioners and intestinal torment (the Jeow really does play havoc with one's bowels) was enough so we bundled ourselves on an early morning bus south, a couple of hours, to Luang Namtha.

Now, sorry to digress, "transport" in Laos needs some explanation. When I say bus, what I really mean is an army truck that's been shrunk in the wash! A diesel slurping machine that coughs and splutters its way along the unfinished roads while its human cargo, most of whom have never had the luxury of public transport before, spill their guts over the side. For our two hour run we joined not 10, not 20, but 30 locals. Course, most have never seen a Westerner and so spend the entire trip touching and feeling us with their withered piss-reeking hands. I know it's harsh, but the local folk really do smell, and to high heaven!

Then there's the "local buses". 1950s war horses that somehow still manage to run. Any journey longer than an hour on these things is torture. And seeing as no journey in Laos takes an hour every ride is torture! In his wonderful book (it's a must read for any travel lover) Catfish and Mandala, Andrew Pham probably describes local buses better than anyone. "Privately owned buses, driven by the owners and their relatives, go bumping from town to town hailing freight, livestock, and produce and picking up riders standing on the side of the road like hitchhikers." Transport in India and Nepal is 21st century by comparison!

Coupled with the dire state of the roads, where there are roads, help make internal travel in Laos an unforgettable experience. Rarely do buses, or indeed tuk-tuks, exceed 30kmph. And all the time men are spitting on the floor, babies squatting on the floor, children stare and sneeze, old men hack and fart. It truly is a memorable experience!

Fortunately for us, the Laos institution that is Beer Lao offers a protective cloak at every turn. Christ, such is the country's affiliation with the tipple that Beer Lao banners have displaced the national flag! You can buy a Beer Lao every couple of kilometres from Muang Sing to Pakse. It's everywhere. Sold by the case in markets or by the can in roadside shacks with a six-pack inventory. And at 40 pence a litre it's as dear as a third of a labourer's daily wage.

And so it was with chilled Beer Lao that we caressed our cramped and aching limbs upon arrival in Luang Namtha. With little else here to do than hire bikes and set out in search of yet more culture - which we duly did, if only for a few hours - we used the pre-monsoon downpour as the necessary excuse for a premature trip to the pub. There we sat most of the afternoon, hiccuping Beer Lao and burping papaya salad until the draw of a clean comfortable bed proved just too irresistible!

Pak Ou Caves and Khouang-Sy waterfalls

Took a break from the bars and temples to spend a day sauntering down the Mekong aboard a local "slow boat". Armed to the teeth with bags of revitalising local fruits - most look scary but taste great - we edged ourselves onto our precarious ride for the day, an up-turned tree that felt like it would capsize every time we sneezed.

The two-hour trip upstream to Pak Ou Caves - studded with more than 4000 wood and gold Buddha images - was, as you'd expect having caught a "slow boat" slow. Felt a bit like Martin Sheen, from Coppola's epic Apocalypse Now, as the tree chugged its way 25km up the river, flanked either side by towering limestone karsts, and expected a screwed-up Marlon Brando to pop out of the undergrowth at any moment to the tune of The Door's "The End"!

High up in the cliffs along the edge of the Mekong is the Buddhist pilgrimage site of the Pak Ou Caves. Accessible only by boat, the caves have, over centuries, been filled with thousands of Buddhist figurines, of all shapes and sizes, by locals who believe the caverns are home to guardian spirits.

On the way back - which fortunately took less than an our as the river's currents came to the aid of our cramping bum cheeks - we stopped by Xang Hi village where locals (those not too whacked up on opium that is) work tirelessly to produce the infamous Lao Lao whisky- a kind of moonshine coloured gunk that overpowers any choice of mixer - and fermented rice wine, which is sold illegally to passing monks. Not intent with destroying intestines with their

hideous concoction villagers go a step further, during distillation of this putrid liquid, by, somehow, adding whole reptiles such as snakes and scorpions. They claim it adds to the drink's "medicinal powers"!?

Safely back on land, we set out in search of another popular attraction, the Khouang-Sy waterfalls, where millions of gallons of water cascade over limestone into turquoise pools of varying size. Igazu Falls this ain't, but it's a delightful place to escape the burning sun and quaff a chilled Beer Lao while frolicking about in the freezing cold water.

Luang Prabang

Sad to say "goodbye" to Vang Vieng, but then again the only real downside to travelling is that you're permanently on the move. Next destination, a further six hours bus ride north, Luang Prabang, the former capital of the kingdom and home to some 30-plus wats (pagodas).

Quite rightly Luang Prabang has adopted the title "jewel of Indochina" and was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1995. This ancient royal city is surrounded by mountains at the junction of the Mekong and its tributary, the Khan. At the heart of the town - named after the Prabang golden statue, or "great holy image" - lies Mount Phousi, a temple topped hill boasting stunning views of surrounding temples and hills.

Luang Prabang has an interesting history, like all of Laos, given that it's been pillaged, razed and rebuilt over the years - last to invade were the Chinese Ho in the 1880s. It's an easy-going city, with little more than 10,000 inhabitants, that can't fail to win travellers over with its French charm and influence, great food and splendid setting.

Indeed, English travel writer Norman Lewis described LP as: "A tiny Manhattan, but a Manhattan with holy men in yellow robes in its avenues, with pariah dogs and garlanded pedicabs carrying somnolent Frenchmen nowhere, and doves in the sky. Down at the lower tip where Wall Street should have been was a great congestion of monasteries."

Given that the city is dominated by pagodas naturally we embarked on a "wat watching" tour. Our ambition, to visit all of the 32 sites dotted around the leafy streets and tranquil courtyards. We were going great guns until a group of monks caught Marit picking fruit from their trees, forcing us to seek refuge in a nearby bar - which just happenedto stock ice cold Beer Lao (sorry to digress, but this stuff really is ambrosia - the drink of the gods. In 2003 it was proclaimed as "Asia's best beer" by TIME magazine and last year the "Dom Perignon of Asian beers" by The Bangkok Post.)

Scouting temples is thirsty work you know, especially when it's undertaken in 37 degrees of searing heat! During one pit-stop we were reminded just how small the world really is, bumping into our Canadian friends from Vang Vieng Kristy and Graham - who, rather conveniently, have developed a Beer Lao addiction too. One led to two led to three led to....you know the score. A unanimous decision was, reluctantly, made to scrap the remaining wats - we made 12 or so, not bad considering they all look the same - in favour of further refreshment. The day/night ended several drunken hours later after we'd dined on a "cook your own" meal, from which, I'm certain, at least one of us will wind up with Salmonella.

Waking up to a terrible feeling of guilt - that we'd shunned cultural activity in favour, or should I say flavour, of alcoholic refreshment - we set out to climb Mount Phousi. The view from the top is superb, especially towards evening when the setting sun colours the Mekong blood red, but, as with all good things, it comes with a price. In this case a climb of some 300 steps! Straddling the Phousi (excuse juvenile humour) is the 20m high Wat Chamsi stupa, oh, and about two dozen locals pedalling crisp-sized bags of opium and marijuana.

At night the main thorough fare, Xiang Thong, is cordoned off and transformed into a dazzling night market. For several hours each evening Lao locals descend on the street with their goods and wares, which include bottles of home-brewed whisky housing all manner of evil looking reptiles. Like so many spots in Asia it provides the perfect, not to mention cheap, opportunity to decorate and refurbish your abode. Unfortunately, in our case, we don't have a home!

And so to Laos

Lao's capital Vientiane boasts a population of some 450,000, more than 10pc of the country's entire inhabitants. And just like Bangkok it seemed everyone has a water pistol or hosepipe in hand! At every turn we were met with high pitched screams and a right good soaking, making it rather difficult to explore the city's French colonial architecture - which punctuates gilded temples and local markets. In the end we opted for the sanctuary afforded by Vientiane's bars. While our exteriors dried off we made sure our innards got a soaking with the rather tasty local tipple Beer Lao.

Next up was a three hour bus ride north to Vang Vieng, a small town set on the Nam Khan river and flanked by towering limestone rock formations. A little gem of a place, the town attracts backpackers from all over SE Asia wanting to try their hand at "tubing" - and rightly so! The rules are very simple. "Splash out" (excuse pun) three dollars in exchange for an inflated tractor inner tube, and hit the river. This is fun with a capital "F"!

So it was that we set off for a sixth soaking in as many days. Bundled off the back of a tuk-tuk, we launched ourselves into the warm waters. Shit, we'd only been floating for five minutes when we encountered the first bar and, more importantly, rope slide! See, what we didn't know was that on just about every bend travellers are invited to part with their comfy tube and climb teetering bamboo steps to launch themselves into the water from death-defying heights. Cool!

It's difficult to describe how much fun this is. Once again we adopted the demeanour of giggly ten year olds as we hurtled down rapids, stopping only to launch ourselves from rickety wooden frameworks. Unfortunately for Kris, his first couple of attempts to earn a "perfect 10" from fellow tubers failed dismally as awkward looking jumps saw him slap the water belly first - causing severe bruising all over! Marit, with years of gymnastic experience behind her, was far more graceful (or careful, depending how you look at it) with her entries and managed to finish the day injury-free.

Tubing is as good as it gets. The disappointment at finishing one beer is immediately forgotten at the sight of young kids chanting "Beer Lao" and waving chilled bottles in the air. Attempts to avoid rope swings are thwarted by over-exuberant locals who cast bamboo rods into the water to ensure your tube ends up resting alongside their bar. Sound systems pump out dance tunes all afternoon while intoxicated tubers grow in confidence and try new tricks from the swings in an effort to wow the crowds - most ending in bone-shattering "slaps" and hoots of laughter!


After seven hours of incessant drinking and swinging our time was sadly up. Two hours after the 5.30pm deadline and expecting a two dollar fine we were yanked out of the river - alongside fellow straddlers Mike, Kristy and Graham - by disgruntled looking organisers.

But the fun wasn't over yet as we embarked on an evening of "happiness" Lao style! You see, not only is Vang Vieng home to tubing, but it's also renowned for its "happy" menus. Pizzas topped with magic mushrooms, opium based shakes and weed tea, all washed down with more Beer Lao, ensure that every visitor to the town go home with a smile on their face that would rival any Cheshire cat.

Bangkok

Oops! With our travel plans changing quicker than Labour's education policies it was impossible to predict what awaited us in the Asian melting pot that is Bangkok! Oh how we'd love to bring you stories from the city's amazing bars and restaurants, pictures of sunset over Chao Phraya River or even an insight into what makes the Thais camper than a row of tents. Alas our decision to base ourselves in the travellers mecca that is Khao San Road proved disastrous for our arrival into this fabulous kingdom coincided with Songkran, the Thai New Year.

Now to put this into perspective, in the first day of four more than 41 people were killed and 500 injured in "accidents" (reports according to the Bangkok Post). You see, Songkran is an excuse for mayhem. A four day water festival during which just about anything goes!

Six plus million Thais live in Bangkok. Now when you add to this number the millions, including tourists, who flock to the city to embrace the chaos that ensues you get a small insight into what unfolds. For example. No one, and we mean no one, escapes a good soaking! The only thing to do is splash out (excuse the pun) on a Super Soaker and get shooting, or seek refuge in a bar. Course the mixture of booze and water only serve to bring out the ten year old in us all!

Fortunately our visit to this crazy city in 2003 allowed us to forget the sightseeing (there's none to be done as everything is closed and all the fun is concentrated around Khao San) and get busy with the drinking and shooting! Black eyes, gashed toes, broken camera. You name it we experienced it! And to think we have hose pipe bans back in the UK!

If day one wasn't carnage (big hats off to the rest of our squadron:Daan, Laar, Mark, Marc and Nigel) during which we were assaulted by barstewards, literally, and chased by coppers - apparently buying all the cold drinking water Seven Eleven could supply us with to shoot bus passengers at 1am is not what the festival's about - then day two was. Food stalls were replaced with DJ booths, hose pipes with foam machines and beer with whisky. By day three we'd had enough - skin really doesn't like being wet for 48 hours straight - and sought refuge in Bangkok's space age shopping malls before opting for a 12hour bus ride across the border to Laos.

Regrettably, as we write this the locals are out in force celebrating the Lao New Year! Seems there's no escaping a soaking anywhere in Asia at this point in time!

Bouddha & Pegasus English School

Tucked away in a quieter corner of Kathmandu is Bodhnath - or Boudha - home to Nepal's most famous and frequented Buddhist monument. Not only did the district, 6km from the drunken late nights of Thamel, allow us a chance to lie low for a few days and catch up on our Zzzzzzzs after several chaotic weeks, but it's also home to Pegasus English School and its endearing principal Kinley Dhendup.

A teacher by profession - not to mention former guide on the Everest circuit - Kinley - was key to our incredible time in Nepal, helping us plan and book everything we achieved without charging the astronomical fees you'd expect. Flights, treks, bus trips, you name it this humble Nepali was able to sort it for us and in return he asked for nothing other than that we enjoyed ourselves to the extreme. And his hospitality didn't stop there, plying us - with the help of his lovely wife Karma and youngest daughter - with Bhutanese rum and momos until our stomachs could take no more!

Pegasus was established in 1999 after two English Rotarians (Pauline and husband Eric) returned from a trip to Nepal with one thing in mind, to assist, in some shape or form, with the education of youngsters. It's quite something to see what they, through hard work and persistence, and their loyal army of friends have achieved in such a small space of time. The school, now catering for children as young as three, is thriving. You only have to look at the faces of the 490 pupils to realise that all young Nepalis want is a chance in life -something we westerners take for granted.

And such is the profile of the school that in 2002 another Englishman, Simon McCarty, began work on the Pegasus Children's Project with a view to improving the lives of some of Kathmandu's 100,000 forgotten street kids. Again, with the help of many, the charity - which works closely with the school - has achieved the seemingly impossible. A new hostel is close to completion which will soon become home to some 50 homeless, many of whom are flying high in the classroom!

It was a great privilege for us to be invited to the school's 8thParent's Day and watch for ourselves how the lives of so many youngsters have been turned around by the continued efforts of others. A day full of music and dance, the occasion both humbled and amazed. To see the children in full flow, not to mention the principal and his eager army of staff, was a privilege and for the first time in four and a half months we both thought about returning to our careers!

As for the stupa, which is adorned with thousands of prayer flags and watched over by the eyes of Buddha himself, it's a great place to visit if you wish to watch hordes of Tibetan pilgrims throwing themselves to the ground in acts of ritual prostration. Though religion holds about as much significance with us as knives and forks do with Indians the sight of these strange folk performing their daily ceremonial circumnavigation of the stupa certainly serves to create a spiritual energy of sorts. Of course, the huge square, on which the stupa is found, is crammed to breaking point with tacky "antique"shops and unsightly hotels.

Outside, and away from the excitable pilgrims, we took an afternoon out to visit Pashupatinath. Located on the shore of the Bagmati river this Hindu site is home to the world's most sacred temple of Shiva (Pashupati). Tens of thousands of pilgrims from all over the world, particularly from Nepal and India pay homage to this temple everyday. Yes it was beautiful but, like Varanasi, we were there to see more than buildings for to die and be cremated on the Bagmati is to be released from the cycles of rebirth. Thus more burning stiffs!

So it was with great disappointment we left Kathmandu and Nepal, but not without one last blow out that ended with our hotel room playing host to a pissed UN diplomat we'd met along the way! Head still sore Surfi?

For more information on Pegasus English School and Pegasus Children'sproject log on to info@worldrhythm.com or http://pegasuschildren.org/

Chitwan National Park

Behind trekking in the Himalaya and exploring Kathmandu Valley, Chitwan Wildlife Reserve is viewed as Nepal's third most popular attraction. It's no wonder why! It's stunningly located. 932 square km of wetland, forest, roaming plains and grassland. And with some beautiful wildlife it feels like a small piece of the Serengeti has been sneaked into the south of Nepal.

Chitwan became Nepal's first, and most reputed, national park in 1973 when the then king tried to put an end to reckless game hunting. Since the early 19th century toffs from all over had descended on the reserve to shoot off buckshot. Christ, in 1911 King George V and son Eddy VIII managed to slaughter 39 tigers and 18 rhinos in one blood-soaked safari! Colonials eh!

Pronounced a UNESCO site in 1984, and under the watchful gaze of Nepal's sometimes stable government, Chitwan has begun a new life and is beginning to flourish. To start with it's home to some 370 One-Horned Rhinos - the only home. One highlight of the trip was towering over a son and father - aboard a 5 ton elephant - as they took a cool mud bath in the shade. And the sight of a mother and daughter grazing was so moving, for an instant we managed to forget how numb our bums were.

Our time in the reserve was limited, but hell did we pack a lot in! Even managed to find time to slurp a few icy cold beers, which gave us the necessary lift needed to join performing Tharu villagers on stage! These folk, who until the 50s were the only bunch living in the park, impress not so much with their wailing and stick-whacking dance routines as with their natural ability to resist Malaria. Lucky barstewards!

Still, they were good enough to paddle us down the Rapti River the next morning. A serene sunrise ride which, regrettably, came to a premature end a few kilometres later. No sooner had we leaped from the upturned tree - it had started to sink, surprisingly fast - than our guide, kitted out Bush Gardens style, was barking instructions. Now I know it was early, but not so early as to miss important words like: crocodile, tiger, or death. Right! Obviously not.

During our sweaty, mosquito-ridden hike through the tall grasses and wetland we came rather to close to the aforementioned. Maybe it's part of the package?! But given only 107 lean, mean killing machine Royal Bengal Tigers reside in 932 square km what do you think the chances are of catching the purrs of one as it's passed between the group?! Too slim for it to happen. And it didn't. But we did see the arse of one as it leaped into the bushes!

Must've been our lucky morning. We also sat and watched crocs sunbathe on the river bank, not to mention stand super still when a rhino clocked us and bolted into the trees. But none of the above can compare to bathing with an elephant. Even when the water runs dry and the cheeky big bar steward squirts you with snot it's fun! Not sure what was funnier. The sight of Marit being hurled off the giant's back into the river or the sound of a 5 ton elephant's fart! The former I think.

The trip was completed in style with a trip to the elephant breeding centre. Probably a little discomforting to learn it only takes 20 days to train a calf - aged three onwards - as the methods must be tough. But these amazing animals don't look broken and seem to fair well. Feeding a six-month old cookies - specially made cookies for all you animal rights activists - was another incident where they certainly brought out the child in us!