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!