Slurping my noodle soup from the bowl, I became aware that no one else was guzzling their food in the same fashion, choosing to use the provided spoons instead. Perhaps I was making a social faux pas? Don’t they eat like this in Laos? Living in rural China certainly does not help one’s table manners. I decided to use the spoon.
I was in Luang Prabang for my holidays - the second biggest city in the tiny country of Laos. Though not as developed as its neighbour Vietnam, investment and infrastructure are slowly seeping into this sleepy backwater. It was the perfect antidote after a hectic end of term when the nerves of teacher and student alike are frayed. I had come to Luang Prabang after a couple of days in the capital Vientiane, and in the backpacker haven of Vang Vien (The main lure of Vang Vien being ‘tubing’, where you float down river in a rubber ring beside fellow troubadours while supping on a cool beer. As you drift, there are a few siren-like locals who entice you with their sweet words of, “Beer Lao Beer Lao Beer Lao”. Should you succumb, they ‘fish’ you over to the side with a bamboo pole, and replenish your beverage.).
Luang Prabang is the perfect place to meander, admire the winding Mekong and indulge in the local poison: Lao Lao whisky. Traditionally, it is served from a jar with snakes perched inside, and, if you are lucky, a few choice spiders and lizards. The locals claim it is very good for you, particularly for the libido. I suspect, however, that it will make you blind rather than being a miracle aphrodisiac.
Phonsavan is a day’s bus journey away from Luang Prabang, and is home to the mysterious ‘Plain of Jars’. These are giant, ancient relics that are thought to be burial urns from thousands of years ago. Incredibly, the majority of the hundreds of jars remain unscathed. Laos has the distinction, albeit rather dubious, of being the most bombed country on Earth (1.1 million tones of explosives were dropped on between 1965 and 1969). During the Vietnam War, both the CIA and the North Vietnamese flouted the 1962 Geneva Agreement that stipulated Laos was neutral territory. The CIA launched a brutal and indiscriminate carpet bombing campaign in an attempt to destroy the ‘Ho Chi Minh Trail’ in eastern Laos that the North Vietnamese communists used for supplies. My guide was a young boy when he and his family were forced to flee Phonsavan for the safety of Vientiane. When they returned there was, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Agent Orange had killed all the trees and plants, and the bombs had destroyed all the houses”. Indeed the unexploded ordnance used still poses a real threat to the large population of farmers tending their land and to playing children, with devastating results. In fact a bomb had been removed from one of the jar sites just the day before I went there. The government has launched a massive campaign to raise awareness about bomb safety and to train locals how to detonate them. Today the land is still deeply pockmarked, and in some areas the flora is sparse, but the scars of Laos and her people seem to be healing slowly.
I proceeded to neighbouring Vietnam, where Hanoi was resplendent in red flags commemorating 75 years of communism under the stewardship of ‘Uncle’ Ho Chi Minh, as well as the upcoming Vietnamese new year, ‘Tet’. Exhausted, I decided to splash out on a single room instead of a dormitory, with the luxury of a television. I switched it on and was presented with pictures of a scrum of sweaty puffing men in a street. I had a feeling I had seen this place before, and realized it was a documentary on ‘The Ba’ in Orkney. Gob smacked, I reminisced for a bit before heading into another scrum outside – the motorbikes of Hanoi.
The motorbikes resemble swarms of livid bees buzzing around, seemingly determined to bring anyone within a metre of them to the verge of a heart attack. Crossing a Vietnamese road is an art form that I never quite perfected, and I take my hat off to those who can casually stroll to the other side of the street while dodging hundreds of speeding bikes aiming for you from all directions.
The main attraction of Hanoi is the bustling old quarter. Full of architectural wonder and a million interesting shops, temples and snack stalls tucked away in every corner, it is the epitome of classic Vietnam. Despite possessing a map, I was perpetually lost, with even a trip to buy fruit taking an hour as I hopelessly wandered around the deceptive labyrinthine streets.
I went on a three day boat trip around the Vietnamese coastal area of Halong Bay with its 3000 islands piercing the glassy Gulf of Tonkin. ‘Halong’ is derived from the Chinese for, ‘where the dragon descended into the sea’, on account of a legend that says the craggy karst peaks were created by a dragon with his thrashing tail. Although it was drizzling and bitterly cold, the bay was stunning. After a year and a half of not seeing the ocean, it was fantastic to get the chance to kayak in the azure waters and flit in and out of caves, arches and beaches.
I also visited the Northern minority tribe area, Sapa, well known for its rice terraces and techno-coloured markets. The ridged terraces ran along the hills and mountains as far as the eye could see. Though not harvesting season, it was easy to imagine the backbreaking work that the farmers endured during the summer months. I attended one of the local markets – a throng of minorities haggling and vending in their long pleated hair and stunning scarves and dresses. It is possible to distinguish the minorities by the colours and styles that they wear. I was not very successful in my observations, as I was being beaten up and thrown aside by determined old women making their way to somewhere important; and gasping at the dog carcasses doomed to be dinner and the raucous cock fights.
Feeling it was time to head back into more familiar territory, I went north into China, through Guangxi province to the Paris of the East: Shanghai. It is a truly dynamic place pinned down by the gigantic Pearl and Jin Mao buildings on the Bund. It is unlike anywhere else in China - even Beijing. Glittering and groaning with decadence, luxury and liberalism, it resembles Europe more than Asia. It is not hard to believe that this city is one of the steaming engines behind China’s surging economy. Entranced by the abundance of neon lights and foreigners, I couldn’t resist hitting the tiles before I headed back to my sedate life in Gansu Province. With the chosen venue full of inhabitants who looked like they belonged on a Star Wars set and a smattering of classics by The Village People and Kylie, my holiday was rounded off nicely.
Arriving back in Xifeng after gruelling train and bus journeys across China, it was eerily quiet as most people had gone back home to the countryside for the Spring Festival. The town was sprinkled with red lanterns signalling the end of the holiday, the occasional firecracker wielding child and a sky aglow with fireworks. The next day, as the population returned to begin work in the year of the rooster, there was a parade through the town centre. Strangely similar to the Gala Week parade (though sans the plethora of coppers and air perfumed with vodka breath), the main features were Chinese opera artists and innumerable dragons, dancing and pirouetting to the beat of huge drums to bring good luck and prosperity to everyone. I hope it works.
I was in Luang Prabang for my holidays - the second biggest city in the tiny country of Laos. Though not as developed as its neighbour Vietnam, investment and infrastructure are slowly seeping into this sleepy backwater. It was the perfect antidote after a hectic end of term when the nerves of teacher and student alike are frayed. I had come to Luang Prabang after a couple of days in the capital Vientiane, and in the backpacker haven of Vang Vien (The main lure of Vang Vien being ‘tubing’, where you float down river in a rubber ring beside fellow troubadours while supping on a cool beer. As you drift, there are a few siren-like locals who entice you with their sweet words of, “Beer Lao Beer Lao Beer Lao”. Should you succumb, they ‘fish’ you over to the side with a bamboo pole, and replenish your beverage.).
Luang Prabang is the perfect place to meander, admire the winding Mekong and indulge in the local poison: Lao Lao whisky. Traditionally, it is served from a jar with snakes perched inside, and, if you are lucky, a few choice spiders and lizards. The locals claim it is very good for you, particularly for the libido. I suspect, however, that it will make you blind rather than being a miracle aphrodisiac.
Phonsavan is a day’s bus journey away from Luang Prabang, and is home to the mysterious ‘Plain of Jars’. These are giant, ancient relics that are thought to be burial urns from thousands of years ago. Incredibly, the majority of the hundreds of jars remain unscathed. Laos has the distinction, albeit rather dubious, of being the most bombed country on Earth (1.1 million tones of explosives were dropped on between 1965 and 1969). During the Vietnam War, both the CIA and the North Vietnamese flouted the 1962 Geneva Agreement that stipulated Laos was neutral territory. The CIA launched a brutal and indiscriminate carpet bombing campaign in an attempt to destroy the ‘Ho Chi Minh Trail’ in eastern Laos that the North Vietnamese communists used for supplies. My guide was a young boy when he and his family were forced to flee Phonsavan for the safety of Vientiane. When they returned there was, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Agent Orange had killed all the trees and plants, and the bombs had destroyed all the houses”. Indeed the unexploded ordnance used still poses a real threat to the large population of farmers tending their land and to playing children, with devastating results. In fact a bomb had been removed from one of the jar sites just the day before I went there. The government has launched a massive campaign to raise awareness about bomb safety and to train locals how to detonate them. Today the land is still deeply pockmarked, and in some areas the flora is sparse, but the scars of Laos and her people seem to be healing slowly.
I proceeded to neighbouring Vietnam, where Hanoi was resplendent in red flags commemorating 75 years of communism under the stewardship of ‘Uncle’ Ho Chi Minh, as well as the upcoming Vietnamese new year, ‘Tet’. Exhausted, I decided to splash out on a single room instead of a dormitory, with the luxury of a television. I switched it on and was presented with pictures of a scrum of sweaty puffing men in a street. I had a feeling I had seen this place before, and realized it was a documentary on ‘The Ba’ in Orkney. Gob smacked, I reminisced for a bit before heading into another scrum outside – the motorbikes of Hanoi.
The motorbikes resemble swarms of livid bees buzzing around, seemingly determined to bring anyone within a metre of them to the verge of a heart attack. Crossing a Vietnamese road is an art form that I never quite perfected, and I take my hat off to those who can casually stroll to the other side of the street while dodging hundreds of speeding bikes aiming for you from all directions.
The main attraction of Hanoi is the bustling old quarter. Full of architectural wonder and a million interesting shops, temples and snack stalls tucked away in every corner, it is the epitome of classic Vietnam. Despite possessing a map, I was perpetually lost, with even a trip to buy fruit taking an hour as I hopelessly wandered around the deceptive labyrinthine streets.
I went on a three day boat trip around the Vietnamese coastal area of Halong Bay with its 3000 islands piercing the glassy Gulf of Tonkin. ‘Halong’ is derived from the Chinese for, ‘where the dragon descended into the sea’, on account of a legend that says the craggy karst peaks were created by a dragon with his thrashing tail. Although it was drizzling and bitterly cold, the bay was stunning. After a year and a half of not seeing the ocean, it was fantastic to get the chance to kayak in the azure waters and flit in and out of caves, arches and beaches.
I also visited the Northern minority tribe area, Sapa, well known for its rice terraces and techno-coloured markets. The ridged terraces ran along the hills and mountains as far as the eye could see. Though not harvesting season, it was easy to imagine the backbreaking work that the farmers endured during the summer months. I attended one of the local markets – a throng of minorities haggling and vending in their long pleated hair and stunning scarves and dresses. It is possible to distinguish the minorities by the colours and styles that they wear. I was not very successful in my observations, as I was being beaten up and thrown aside by determined old women making their way to somewhere important; and gasping at the dog carcasses doomed to be dinner and the raucous cock fights.
Feeling it was time to head back into more familiar territory, I went north into China, through Guangxi province to the Paris of the East: Shanghai. It is a truly dynamic place pinned down by the gigantic Pearl and Jin Mao buildings on the Bund. It is unlike anywhere else in China - even Beijing. Glittering and groaning with decadence, luxury and liberalism, it resembles Europe more than Asia. It is not hard to believe that this city is one of the steaming engines behind China’s surging economy. Entranced by the abundance of neon lights and foreigners, I couldn’t resist hitting the tiles before I headed back to my sedate life in Gansu Province. With the chosen venue full of inhabitants who looked like they belonged on a Star Wars set and a smattering of classics by The Village People and Kylie, my holiday was rounded off nicely.
Arriving back in Xifeng after gruelling train and bus journeys across China, it was eerily quiet as most people had gone back home to the countryside for the Spring Festival. The town was sprinkled with red lanterns signalling the end of the holiday, the occasional firecracker wielding child and a sky aglow with fireworks. The next day, as the population returned to begin work in the year of the rooster, there was a parade through the town centre. Strangely similar to the Gala Week parade (though sans the plethora of coppers and air perfumed with vodka breath), the main features were Chinese opera artists and innumerable dragons, dancing and pirouetting to the beat of huge drums to bring good luck and prosperity to everyone. I hope it works.
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