"Happy Place" - Part II

The next morning in Vang Vieng we awoke a little groggy and organised ourselves for the tour. Unfortunately I didn’t know that the shared bathroom on the right had a hot shower. But using the cold shower bathroom on the left woke me up pretty fast. Sitting to breakfast was a moment in itself. During the course of our typical eggs and baguette breakfast, I think I looked up at the view and said “look at that” with dumb astonishment no less than twenty five times. Really, it was that beautiful.

We were collected for the tour and dropped at the tour office where we met up with Rachael who gave a little embarrassed smile and we also met a Israeli guy called Yossi. As we waited to leave we wondered where the other five backpackers where. Eventually we were ushered onto a jumbo Tuk-Tuk with about 10 Thai tourists. Arriving at the first stop we were a little pissed off. We were told the maximum tour size was nine people and that our tour would be full of backpackers like us. Instead there were about 15 of us, the Thai tourists ignored us, the tour guides had to explain everything twice and we were told that we were already running late so we would have to wait before we could enter the caves.

After walking through a serene little village we arrived at the first cave, more of an opening in the rock and only about 10m deep. This cave was called Elephant cave due to a large stalactite that actually did look like an elephant, albeit the slightly smooth surface suggested that there may have been a little bit of human intervention in its formation. After a children’s folk story about the local myths, we walked through the local village to the opening of another cave. This was known as “Water Cave” and the cave opened like mouth with a small river running out of it’s dark depths.

We had to wait while another tour went into the cave and came out again, and sat outside the cave on the smooth river stones and tormented the local ducks by throwing pebbles to them. No matter how many times a duck realises you are throwing stones to it, it still tries to pick it up and eat it, this possibly why ducks never invented the wheel. Eventually it was our turn to go into the cave. Prue decided there was no way her claustrophobic self was going in and was more than happy to wait with the ducks. So Rachel, Yossi and I climbed into the tubes, grabbed the guide rope and hoisted our way into the darkness.

After turning the first corner the cave was pitch black, we had a battery pack hanging around our necks and a miners headlamp. The battery pack was a little worrying as the whole thing was regularly submerged in water, but there is no such thing as OH&S in South East Asia and luckily I found myself not electrocuted. Caving was fun, dark, cold and wet, but still fun. We pulled ourselves through the cave on a rope for the first part, then after reaching a shallow part we walked hunched over for a bit, got back into the tubes to paddle against the current until we reached the end of the cave where we did it all again in reverse.

Back outside in the sunshine we were fed lunch which included a baguette each. This time the ducks were most impressed to find the things we threw at them were actually edible. Then we walked back through the village to the river where the kayaks waited. The tour guide pulled aside the Thai tourists and in Thai he explained in great depth the absolute basics of how to kayak. After 15 minutes he finished and walked over to us and asked if we had ever Kayaked before, we all nodded, he told us to follow the guides and he motioned for us to get in a Kayak.

The Kayaking was nice, we couldn’t really go very fast because we had to keep stopping to wait for the Thai tourist to catch up, which meant about 30 seconds of paddling, followed by 3 mins of drifting or back paddling. There were some little rapids to add a bit of excitement. But really none of it mattered when you stopped and looked around you couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the magnificent views. I’m probably banging on about the scenery a bit too much, but it is totally deserving of the praise. Eventually as we winded our way peacefully down the river for about 5kms, we slowly drifted towards the energetic sounds of a big phat throbbing subwoofer pumping away, we had arrived at “The Tubing”.

The setup is like something from Peter Pan, wooden platforms with rope swings and zip lines sprout from each side of the river launching screaming partiers high into the air before dropping them deep into the water. The platforms are covered with masses of drunken men and women, dancing like tribal warriors to the beat, in an epic orgy of hedonistic mayhem. The conservative nature of Laos people is forgotten in this place. We pulled our Kayaks up to the second platform and became almost instantly absorbed by the party atmosphere. After buying a beer from an eight year old boy I scrambled up the first rope swing tower and took the first of many high flying plunges into the river.

The Tubing place is a hell of a lot of fun. The tubes themselves are practically useless and can become a burden as they carry hefty fees for loosing them or returning them after a certain time. The entire place can easily be navigated by swimming around or walking. Most people never make it past the first bar, which is easily understandable as it is so much fun, there is no reason to go any further. By the time they do make it to the second bar they are usually shit faced. This was the condition we met the English couple from the night before in (Emma and Tim). Emma was so drunk that Tim couldn’t get her out of the tube, she was almost face down in the water, and eventually Tim decided it best to put her back in the tube and float home down the river.

Then we met Shaun and his girlfriend. Shaun was a typical bogan Aussie who had been deprived of Aussie contact, something we found strange considering the number of Aussies in Asia. Maybe the other Aussies were avoiding him. With a drunken slur Shaun threw his arm over my shoulder and asked me my name, he did this about five more times in the following hour that he decided we would be best friends and have a drink together. Every time I flew off the rope swing, Shaun would scramble up behind me. Shaun’s girlfriend was getting a bit worried as each time he went off the swing it took him longer and longer to get back up the river bank. Prue and Shaun’s girlfriend managed to talk each other into having a go on the swing, and flew off in tandem, squealing with joy.

I never did get to have that beer with Shaun, we all headed down to the last bar at the end of the river and as we got there we saw Shaun trying to get out of his tube, he was too drunk and couldn’t do it. Shaun’s girlfriend helped him back into the tube and they too floated home. At the last bar we caught up with the four UK girls from our nightmare bus ride and we partied until darkness started to set in. Prue and Rachael braved the gigantic slide and I flew from the biggest swing, getting so much air that I had time to look over at a guy on the bank who said “Whoa, that’s massive air bro!”, I replied with an even bigger splash.

After getting back to town we changed into dry clothes and met up with Rachael and Yossi again at the BBQ kebab place for dinner. Eventually we said our goodbyes and separated, Prue and I headed back to the Guest House to chill out. The town wasn’t as busy and wild as it had been the night before, I grabbed a couple of beers from the café and settled into the hammock with a book and sparked up a joint I had left over from the night before. After awhile my peaceful bliss was interrupted by a couple of American guys who were trying to get into the pants of a couple of Japanese girls, but they had some more pot so it wasn’t all bad.

Earlier in the night Prue had met a man outside the cabin who looked fairly geeky and in his late thirties, he didn‘t fit the mould of the backpacker crowd, in fact he stuck out like dog‘s balls. He was acting fairly nervous and freaking out about some unknown substance in his shake the previous day. When he wandered out to sit beside me on the balcony he was still sporting the same first impression. After a few polite introductory conversations the geeky man implied nervously that he wanted to get some “Marijuana” to calm himself down. I pointed him to the chilled out bar and explained the casual approach of ordering a beer. After an hour he hadn’t quite talked himself into it, and midnight was approaching, so I sighed, rolled out of the hammock, and offered to hold his hand.

Back at the chilled out bar again things were quite different, the place was quiet. I ordered two beers, two spliffs, pocketed one, gave the other to the geek and we sat down by the fire. The geeky guy sat uncomfortably and made obtuse observations rather than conversation. To make it worse, he didn’t pass the spliff, I didn’t mind, but a few of the hippy looking scruffians by the fire seemed to casually notice, especially after he had a few puffs and let it go out. When he got up to go to the toilet I found out that the hippy looking scruffians had been in Vang Vieng for eight days already. They looked like they had spent eight days going hard Vang Vieng style, their edges were frayed and they collectively stared at the fire, while staring through the fire, and probably well beyond.

One of the locals came over to the fire and motioned for us to stop smoking as it was nearing midnight. I tried to ask him if it had been much, much busier the night before or if it was my imagination. Language barriers struck me at a dead end, possibly because I had asked if it was “chocka block”, suddenly one of the hippy girls jumped to life and said “Chocka Block! Oh my god! Chockas!”. Apparently the poor little Kiwi hadn’t heard many colloquialisms of late, and was a little bit too excited by the use of “chocka block”. This made the geeky guy more nervous, possibly from not knowing what “chockas” meant so we returned to the Guest House, where I slunk back into the hammock.

Midnight in the hammock was another unique sensory experience, while the geeky guy and I exchanged puffs on his joint the sounds of the town blared on around us loudly. From our vantage point we could hear the bars of the island, with the two largest stereos playing their individual tracks, but from above the tracks blended together creating a messy hybrid song, like a B-grade remix. Then in an instant it was gone and there was no sound at all. The town was plunged again into silence and darkness. Then came the chaotic sounds of the crowds below. Rising from whispers to talking and then shouting, as if an imaginary force was slowly turning the master volume up.

The geeky guy found his relaxation in the peace and quiet and slinked off to bed, leaving me the rest of his joint, which I offered up to the American guys, who had failed to plant the finishing moves on the Japanese girls, who had also gone to bed. The American guys had arrived in Vang Vieng earlier that evening and arriving after dark had not seen any of the view. I spoke to them for a while, and took great pleasure in telling them they’d shit happy bricks in the morning when they see the view of the mountains. I didn’t see them in the morning, but I did see the view, again finding myself in dumbstruck awe while eating the typical omelette and baguette breakfast, pointing at the view and nudging Prue saying “look at that!”

We originally arrived in Vang Vieng after a spectacularly scenic bus ride. Two days later we were boarding the bus bound for Luang Prabang, another bus ride. This bus trip was heralded as one of the most hellish bus rides in Laos. We would have liked to have spent more time in Vang Vieng (I’d even consider applying for a Laos Citizenship and move there) but unfortunately our time restraints were still hitting us hard. So we pressed on to Luang Prabang on a bus that wasn’t at all hellish, unless you’d called it hellishly beautiful. We wound our way through more spectacular mountains, flying sideways around corners as usual. I suppose it is the corners people complain about, but mountains would be boring if the roads were straight.

“Happy” Place. - Part I

Hedonism, a word that promises so much. In Vang Vieng it delivers. “Heaven” might be a better word, “Utopia” or “Paradise” also fit the mould. Whatever word you use, in Vang Vieng I found my happy place, and I think my life was cut into two parts; before and after Vang Vieng.

There is a lot of things wrong with the place. Drunken backpackers stagger the streets wearing inappropriate clothing despite the signs that ask not to offend the locals. All of the bars show endless re-runs of “Friends” or “Family Guy” and if you ask for a beer at most bars, you are presented a second “happy” menu listing a varying cocktail of drugs from the humble joint of Weed to a Magic Mushroom milkshake or an Opium pancake. The bars have a 12am curfew, forcing drunk and drug fucked backpackers into the streets with no where to go and the guesthouse we chose from the book was at the very top of the hill on a long dirt road covered in sharp rocks and pot holes.

It can also be said that there is a lot right with Vang Vieng. The streets and bars are full of easy going backpackers with a collective mission of having a good time and making new friends. The bars are relaxed affairs, with cushions and coffee tables the only furnishings, TV and music to zone out to, and the bar serves and endless plethora of poisons to suit all tastes. Although the bars close at midnight the locals still pop their head out from the door of their stores offering sandwiches and perhaps a beer to keep the party fuelled well beyond the midnight hour. And as our guest house was at the top of the hill, setting a relaxed atmosphere away from the party sound, with an uninterrupted view of the breathtaking mountains.

I guess it is just a matter of perspective… Some people love Vang Vieng and rave about it to their fellow travellers while sporting the souvenir T-Shirt. Some people don’t like Vang Vieng, put off by the reckless behaviour of the intoxicated backpacker crowd who dominate the tourist demographic. Whichever side off the fence you sit on, one thing is certain; no one can deny the magnificent setting of Vang Vieng.

We travelled to Vang Vieng with the knowledge that it was a party town full of backpackers, we assumed there was a river as we had heard about the tubing. Tubing basically consists of jumping in an inflated inner tube and floating down a river from one bar to the next, getting pissed. Allegedly a few people die from tubing every now and then, but we all know alcohol and swimming is dangerous. Fun yes, but still dangerous. So it was a great surprise to approach Vang Vieng with a horizon filled with some of the most magnificent mountains South East Asia has to offer.

Vang Vieng is only a small town but packs enough punch to get a map marker. The town runs along the edge of peaceful river lined with Asian jungle at the foothills of the Sawtooth Mountains, a gigantic and rugged mountain range which is described as “rising up like the back of a Stegosaurus”. The natural setting is enhanced by the laid back style of the town, with bamboo and other wood the prominent building materials.

Our Guest House was built in this style. For 30,000 Dong ($3.75) we booked into a wooden cabin like room with no more than a double bed covered with a mozzie net, a power point and a light. We had a shared bathroom and a communal area with a hammock, some cushions and a couple of day beds around a coffee table. Below the cabins, an open air cafe led to a steep stairway down to a bamboo bridge across the river to bungalows. The bungalows were almost three times as much (still cheap) as the cabin room. But when we saw the view from the top of our hill -where our cabins and café were- we instantly knew we had picked the best spot in town.

After settling in we walked back down the hill grabbed a meal at a café overlooking the mountains and wandered through the main strip. We sussed out a few tour operators. With the mountains, river and nearby caves, Vang Vieng is an adventure haven offering rock climbing, hiking, mountain biking, kayaking, caving and so on. We wanted to get a bit more out of Vang Vieng than just renting an inner tube and heading to the river bars, so we booked a kayaking and caving tour for the next day. The tour would end up at the tubing place where we would be able to swing off rope swings, fly down zip lines and launch from a giant slide into the river. I was exited about the tubing place, what man doesn’t like jumping off shit into water?

Prue had made friends with a girl from Brisbane somewhere between Vientiane and Vang Vieng and we ran into her in front of the tour place. She also decided to book our tour, and the tour guide promised us a small tour with five other backpackers who had already booked, so it all sounded perfect. We also ran into the Russian couple (who were actually Finnish) from the morning’s wait for the bus, in case you wanted to know; they were well. To make things just that little bit more perfect we walked back to our guesthouse just in time for sunset. Prue wanted to get to her Bag and left me two thirds of the way up the hill at a really chilled out looking bar with a sunset view. I walked up to the bar and asked for a beer…

The bartender placed a beer on the bar and a small tin which he subtly gestured towards. Written on the tin was another secret “happy” menu listing a variety of drugs served in interesting ways. I ordered a joint and he motioned for me to smoke over by the fire where two other guys sat relaxing. The fire was pretty much the perfect place to sit, I’d assumed they asked me to smoke there to mask the smell of the joint as drugs are still illegal in Laos. Either way I had a lovely fire and a perfect view of the sunset falling directly between two mountains, while the river and jungle spread out across the foreground.

I sat down, put down my beer and pulled out the camera, a man to my left looked over at me and said in a drawling voice “the sun”. He seemed pretty wasted, and so did the guy to my right, who then joined the conversation by saying absolutely nothing at all. A short while later the sun had dropped below the horizon and so had my brain. Having not smoked a joint in a long time, I found myself feeling pretty out of it. As paranoia and insecurity surrounded me, I decided it was time to bail out and headed back to the guest house to find Prue.

Back at the guest house Prue was chilling out in the Cabin reading a book. I laid down and zoned out for a while feeling myself drifting off into a higher plain of existence where I reached a realisation that the length of our lives was completely determined by our willingness to ignore the possibility of stopping and everything and everyone was connected by a gigantic rolling ball of energy that rolled around talking about me behind my back while I pretended I couldn’t hear it until it was satisfied I wasn’t interesting enough to pay attention to. Thankfully after a while I needed a cigarette, so I braved the exterior of the cabin, walked out the front door and ran straight into a half naked man.

Beau was from a small town that Prue and I both forgot the name of, somewhere in country Victoria. He was travelling with a guy called Ollie who later became quite an enigma, we never met Ollie but people kept mentioning him as if everyone knew who he was. Ten days later in the border town of Chiang Kong on the edge of the Thai-Laos border we ran into a couple who not only knew Beau, but had been staying at the guest house around the same time as us, and still owed Ollie money. Prue heard Ollie shouting and carrying on later that night, but never spoke to him, and the reason for his shouting comes later in the story. But enough about Ollie.

Beau had managed to pull a sense of logic back into the frame with his earnest country smile and humour, we chatted for a long time with him standing half naked in the doorway and me sidestepping like a boxer trying not to be very interesting in case the giant rolling ball of energy started taking interest in me again. Luckily I managed to stay under the radar, although I think I confused both Beau and Prue when I asked who the people over there were that seemed to know everything that was going on. “What people?” was the reply.

We let Beau put some clothes on, stepped around a drunken Aussie in a hoodie that looked like he’d ordered from the “happy menu” a few too many times, and the three of us headed down to the main strip for dinner. Once we got to the main strip we seemed to reach a point where we were at the epicentre of the town and couldn’t decide where to go from there. For a long time we stood in the middle of the street talking to each other and random people as they passed us by. Such is the spirit of Vang Vieng where every one seems open and carefree, strangers make eye contact, say “hello” and stop to chat and no one seems to be judgmental. Well except the locals, who are always watching…like a giant rolling ball of energy.

Standing on the street we ran into two of the girls from the UK who were on our nightmare bus trip from Hanoi, they were still wet, covered in texta, half drunk and raving about the fun they’d had tubing. Right next to us was a restaurant with a BBQ out the front showcasing an array of kebabs. Decision for dinner made, we walked in to find the exception to the rule about the locals watching you; the waiters aren’t. Service was impossible and sometimes comical. People would stand up waving their arms around like the ground crew on a Air Craft Carrier only to be thoroughly ignored. We sat with another couple who were friends of Beau’s (and also knew Ollie) and enjoyed delicious kebabs.

After awhile Rachael (the girl from Brisbane that Prue had met somewhere between Vientiane and Vang Vieng) walked past and we invited her to sit with us, her friend happened to be sitting on the table next to us, but as her friend had met a guy a few weeks earlier, she wasn’t getting much entertainment out of the new couple. I say sitting at tables, but really it was just a coffee table with some cushions around it. The relaxed style of Vang Vieng. Beau seemed to take an instant fancy to Rachael, but then again he also took an instant fancy to Sarah one of the girls from the UK when we met on the street earlier. I guess he was just toey.

After awhile we headed of to a nearby bar on the next street, a place pumping with dance music and scantily clad backpackers, most of whom were still wet, covered in texta and half drunk. We ran into the four UK girls again, they were rat shit drunk by now and forced their bucket upon us. Buckets were possibly invented by a bartender who doesn’t like serving the same person twice in one night. Or ever again. Basically you take a small bucket like the type you’d build a sandcastle with, pour half a bottle of spirits, fill the rest with mixer and ice then throw in a handful of straws to be passed around communally. Needless to say Buckets get you drunk properly, and in South East Asia a bucket costs about the same as one mixed drink from a Melbourne nightclub.

We ordered more buckets and played some pool. But we lost interest along the way and recruited a British couple to help take turns having shots. Rachael met a French guy who gave her pool tips. Prue and I laughed our arses off watching Beau and the French Guy sizing each other up, and competing for her attention. While Beau sunk the black ball using his toes and the French guy looked like he’d gotten the upper hand, I finished off our third bucket and we realised that midnight curfew was approaching and headed off to the chilled out bar I’d visited earlier.

Returning to the scene of the crime I found the chilled out bar was not so chilled out anymore. The place was chocka block with people. I walked up to the bar and ordered another beer and perused the second menu. At the stoke of midnight the music and the lights were cut off instantly. The entire bar shifted from a mess of noise and revelry into a dark open area with a lot of people standing far too close to each other. It didn’t just hit our bar though. The entire town was plunged into dark silence. The island, the main strip and our rocky little road up the hill were now all dark and silent. Well, except for the murmur of the crowds, who had no idea were they were supposed to go next and had no intention of getting there in any hurry.

Beau and Rachael had disappeared, and I walked with Prue and the British girl we’d recruited for pool back up the hill to our guest house. Standing around out the front of our guest house Prue called it quits and went to bed while I met a crazy Frenchman and we decided to head back into the streets. The streets were full of likeminded people, who were intoxicated in some way and had no where to go. We headed to the island, but as we got to the bridge we were told the island was dead, so we hang around the street some more talking to random people at every shop.

The shops all close at midnight and the store owners cover the front of their shops with tarpaulin. But as you are standing around chatting, suddenly a local face will pop out between the gap in the tarp and say “Sandwich?”. Supposedly the curfew isn’t normally enforced, but as the South East Asian Games are on in Vientiane there is a bit more regulation on the rules. However the locals are always keen to make a dollar and will even offer a beer or two while you wait for the sandwich. It all reminded me of the 3am Souvlaki trips back home.

Eventually I found myself in the middle of town, talking shit to people I don’t remember. Somewhere here I found Beau and Rachael embracing each other while sitting in a gutter… Nice. I left them be and wandered up to the terrace of a guest house where a few people where chilling out with some stashed beers and a laptop playing iTunes. I can’t remember the Crazy French guy being there, in fact I cant remember the Crazy French guy. A couple days later in Luang Prabang I was approached on the street by a French guy and his girlfriend who spoke to me as if they knew me. I took a gamble and mentioned something about Vang Vieng. They walked away and I said to Prue “Some French guy just talked to me and I have no idea who the hell he was”. Prue concluded it must have been the Crazy Frenchman that I had disappeared into the streets with, I concluded that if I couldn‘t remember him, why did we think he was crazy?

The streets were thinning and the backpackers were eyeing the locals hanging around with great suspicion. There are a lot of warnings around town about being caught with drugs after midnight and the people on the terrace seemed to be getting a good dose of paranoia that iTunes is illegal too. I decided to bail again, and trekked the long rocky hill back to the guest house, looking back to make sure I wasn’t being followed by a suspicious local, or worse a gigantic rolling ball of energy.

At the guest house I found a guy asleep in the hammock. I found out later that this was Ollie. Ollie had gone nuts when he got home and realised that Beau had the key. This was the shouting that Prue had heard through the night. Eventually Ollie had given up and slept in the hammock, a smart move as Beau wouldn’t be getting home with their key until the early morning. Beau had hooked up with Rachael and gone back to hers. Over near the café I spotted a blonde guy with curly hair sitting on a chair shivering himself to sleep. He’d lost his key and was also locked out, I dragged him up onto the balcony of the cabins and put him on the day bed then threw a massive cushion on him. He muttered a nonsensical “thankyou” and passed out, I went to bed and passed out shortly after. Hoping my good deed wouldn’t attract any unnecessary attention from certain rolling balls of energy...

...To be continued...

Chapter 4: Purgatory.

We passed through Vietnamese immigration and found our self walking down a steep road flanked by mountains with a lovely creek at the bottom containing enough river stones to pave the garden footpaths of half a suburb. The Laos border was an easy going affair, we filled out a form, gave them the visa fee plus a $1 corruption fee for the stamp, and a passport photo and were waived on. Somewhere here I lost our two remaining photos and wondered if the next group crossing the border would have someone who looked exactly like us who could make use of them. Who knows, to Asians, us white folk all probably look the same anyway.

The cold morning air was still cold and morning air on the other side of the border and for breakfast at the border we warmed up with some Pho Bo (Beef Noodle Soup) and Deep Fried Banana, washed down with a hot coffee. Then we clambered back over the rice sacks and back packs and settled back into our seats for the second half of our bus ride from hell…

In Laos things started to improve dramatically. Sure we were still treated like second class citizens by the bus people, who yelled abusively at one of the girls from the UK when she asked if the blaring pop music could be turned down. And we were still crammed into the back of the bus as tight as a travel sleeping bag. Outside the bus however, the towns had turned into villages complete with woven roofs and thatched walls held together with bamboo. The roads were still windy, but despite the poverty the road quality had actually improved, a lot. The mountains towered above with massive rock faces that reminded us of the escarpments of Kakadu. But most importantly, as we stopped for a break in a roadside village the kids would wave at us and say “hello”, their parents would smile, and no one, not one person at all approached us trying to sell us something we didn’t want.

We finally arrived in Vientiane, capital of Laos, 22 hours after leaving Hanoi, capital of Vietnam. Tired and hungry we banded together and shared a Jumbo Tuk-Tuk into town from the bus station, which we haggled down to half the local price for all eight of us. The four Pommie girls wanted to go straight through to Vang Vieng and I happened by accident to find a minivan to take them there straight away. So we said goodbye to four of the girls we had shared the past day suffering with, and shortly after that we parted with the two French girls as we each headed to different hotels picked again from the book.

At precisely this moment Vientiane turned upside down on us. Reading the guidebook on the bus we learnt that Vientiane was playing host to the South East Asian Games. What we didn’t know was that it started the next day. For two hours we walked from Hotel to Hostel to Guest House, finding that not only had all of the prices gone through the roof, but everywhere was fully booked. Eventually we were far too tired to keep lugging our backpacks through the streets searching for a nice and cheap place. We paid $25 for a hotel room that wouldn’t have been worth $5 anywhere else in Asia.

To be fair on Vientiane we didn’t really give the place enough time to endear itself to us. Sure the people were lovely, fun loving and friendly, almost polar opposite to the rude and mercenary Vietnamese. That night Laos hosted the first soccer match of the SEA Games, unfortunately it was sold out, but the celebrations after they won carried long into the night. We ate dinner, walked through the markets and watched as Jumbo Tuk-Tuks arrived carrying people who were destined to walk the streets for hours looking for somewhere to sleep. About five hours after we arrived in the town we saw three guys we had spoken to when we first arrived, still searching for a place to stay.

So without allowing Vientiane to open it’s arms up to us, we booked a bus for the next morning to take us to Vang Vieng. We vowed to return to Laos and retired to our overpriced hotel for a reasonably early night. Prue originally planned to head to the Plain of Jars which we would have probably done after a one night stop-over in Vang Vieng. Unfortunately as we were (and still are) running very late from spending too long in Vietnam, Prue conceded that three days there and back wasn’t feasible in our tight schedule. So again we vowed to return to Laos.


We had heard of Vang Vieng being a place full of backpackers getting drunk and swimming on inner tubes. A few people had raved about the place and a few people had told us it wasn’t their scene, as it was between Vietiane and Luang Prabang we decided to break up the long trip with a well needed night out and headed there hesitantly the next morning on the bus. Another bloody bus.

When you book the VIP bus in Laos, we quickly learnt that you don’t necessarily get the VIP bus. We were picked up late and while we waited we chatted to a Russian couple (who were actually Finnish for some reason we called them Russian) that lived in Bangkok and had to holiday every sixty days so they could stay in Bangkok. Eventually we arrived at the bus in the last group, to find that the first people who arrived at the bus first had been waiting on the bus for the past hour. Learning this, we weren’t too upset that we waited an hour on the comfortable couches in front of our hotel.

As usual I waited beside the bus while I made sure our bags got on and I stepped onto the bus to find there were no seats. Prue was in the second row next to an Australian lady who’s husband and daughter sat in the front row. I had no row, nor seat. One of the bus guys pointed to “VIP bus” across the parking lot. A massive modern luxury coach with animated murals covering the sides and told me “one seat”. I pointed to the floor and smiled, not wanting to leave Prue alone on our 1980’s Shit-box bus. Our bus was the same price as the VIP bus we thought we were getting, and so did most of the people on our bus, who all stared longingly at the comfortable coach across the parking lot that had air-con. As our bus rolled out of the lot, I was ushered into the fold down seat next to the driver and was treated to a panoramic view for the next six hours.

Watching the oncoming traffic from the front seat, it was lucky our driver wasn’t Vietnamese, Cambodian or Thai. Laos travels at a much slower pace than the other three neighbours. Sure we spent some time narrowly missing oncoming trucks and buses on the wrong side of the road while winding around mountain passes. But the frequency in which it happened had become almost negligible, well except for the winding mountains which had increased in not only frequency, but also increased in grandness and splendour. Within two days in Laos we had already been treated to some of the most amazing scenery so far in our trip, and I had the best seat in the house.

As we rolled into Vang Vieng, we realised the real reason why people come here, sure the parties are a draw card, but the scenery just got even better. Stepping of the bus, I think I died that day...

Getting Out.

We arrived at the office for our bus trip to Vientiane, Laos at the punctual time of 4:45pm. The lady we bought our tickets from was upstairs cooking dinner in a cute apron and motioned for us to drop our bags and wait to be picked up by the “Bus”. Unfortunately the sleeping bus from Hanoi to Laos only leaves every Tuesday and Saturday. Our visa was due to expire on Tuesday so without enough time for comfort we had to take the Sunday night bus, which was advertised as a ‘seated bus’, would take about 22-25 hours and had no toilet onboard. With no other option but an expensive flight or overstaying our visa which allegedly means we can never return to Vietnam, “fuck it” we thought, and booked the bus.

While waiting for the Bus to pick us up I was approached by a girl out the front trying to sell fruit and offering me to have a photo taken holding her baskets balanced across her back like giant scales. Not wanting to part with anymore cash, for neither fruit nor the scam laced photo opportunity (of which we had been warned) I kindly declined and entered into the usual street side conversation. “Where you from?” “How old are you?” “Is that your girlfriend? Oh Wife! Do you have baby?” While talking to the girl, her older sister joined us and they were most amused to find I was the same age as her older sister.

The older sister made a comment in Vietnamese and the three of them (as we were now joined by her younger sister as well) started laughing. With a confused look I inquired to the girl what was funny. She told me her older sister said I was handsome, I thanked her, then she said asked if I wanted “boom boom” and pushed her sister saying “cheap cheap”. The two younger girls started belly laughing while the older sister went bright red and hid her head in embarrassment. We spoke and laughed with the sisters for a while longer while we waited for the “bus” to pick us up.

Eventually a very pushy man came to the store on a scooter and the lady in the cute apron ushered us to follow him around the corner where a “taxi” was waiting to take us to the bus. We strapped on our bags and followed behind him as he hurried us around the corner then stopped a little way past the corner and pointed us to his scooter and another scooter alongside. With massive backpacks strapped to our backs and again on our chests, we looked at him and said “No Way! Taxi, not scooter, Taxi!”. Again he motioned us toward the scooters with a hostile command. “Fuck that!” we told him and headed back around the corner to the office of the lady in the cute apron.

She tried to convince us the traffic was bad and a scooter would be quicker, but also conceded the pushy man had duped her and wanted to put us on a scooter to save himself a dollar or two. We told the lady that there was no way we were getting on a scooter and we had been waiting at the office since 4:45pm, it was now 5:15pm and would have had plenty of time to get to the bus had we left at the original specified time. She motioned us again to wait, and went in to call a taxi for us.

The girls were still out the front and we joked and laughed with them some more, especially as the lady in the cute apron’s husband came out to say “taxi coming”. After asking him an unanswered question the girls on he street belly laughed some more and the one who spoke English explained that he didn’t speak English, he had only been taught to say “Taxi coming” by his wife in the cute apron. The street girl was the only one of the sisters who spoke English and she spoke it very well. When I asked her how long she had been learning she replied that she had been teaching herself for two years just by talking to tourists.

We were pushed into the taxi by another grumpy man, this time the taxi driver who honked his horn and sped his way through the hectic Hanoi traffic occasionally muttering harshly into his mobile phone and continuing his ranting long after he had hung up the phone. Meanwhile in the back seat Prue and I crossed our fingers as our stomachs churned from nervousness at the infinite problems ahead if we missed our bus out of Vietnam. Eventually we turned into the bus station, were pulled hastily from the taxi and with a single finger flick pointed in the direction of our bus.

We found our bus, an outdated looking orange bus with Laos plates and flashing neon lights throbbing to the beat of techno pumping from inside. Stepping onto the bus we were angrily ushered by the pushy scooter driver from the office, who mumbled something about us ‘costing him lots of money’ while I mumbled something about him ‘getting the fuck outta my face before I snap‘. As we were pushed over the top of rice sacks in the aisles our bags were thrown into a pile at the back of the bus. Thankfully we had one reprise as we looked to our seats at the back and sighed relief (quite verbally) when we saw half a dozen western girls cramped onto the bus with us. At least we wouldn’t suffer alone.

The two girls in front of us let slip that they were pretending to sleep so that they wouldn’t be forced to move to another seat, and we felt sorry for the French girls next to us who were under the impression the trip would only take 14 hours. As we settled into the cramped bus with a sigh of relief mixed with two parts dread and a feeling that we were unwelcome, the bus pulled away at break neck speed to begin our 22 hour journey south to the Cau Treo border crossing with Laos then on to Vientiane.

After settling in and opening a book to read, the bus driver decided the lights would go off and our overhead lights were also left off. Meanwhile the air-con was on full throttle (as it usually is) and the cold added to the discomfort. Discomfort which was increased further as twice on the way out of town we stopped to pick up more Vietnamese passengers, who each had more luggage (or sacks/boxes of food) and eventually our bags piled up alongside our legs in the aisle, and as every chair was occupied the aisle filled with people too.

We stopped for dinner at a dodgy road side cafe้, where Prue decided to stick to boiled rice for safety and the toilet could only be reached by running under a small waterfall from a burst pipe above the door. The food was shit but we needed something for the unknown length of travel ahead, and I met a guy from another bus also heading to Laos and we compared comfort. His bus looked nicer, but had people on stools down the aisle.

Had we been psychic we could have pulled a trump card on him. Not only did more people get on our bus at the rest stop (which meant at least three people were sleeping in the aisle), not only did someone steal my blanket… But 30 minutes down the road, no more than five minutes after we were joking with the fellow western girls about the hellish start to our trip, the lingering smell of urine was slowly replaced by the smell of burning rubber.

Gradually the smell became stronger and the bus slowed to a stop, Prue and I sitting directly over the back wheel looked down and declared “Oh shit the bus is on fire!” Black smoke billowed from the wheel arch and one of the bus operators walked over and poured water onto it, satisfied we set off again…Well, we drove for at least five more minutes until they admitted the problem was serious and pulled over again.

As a straw mat was unrolled under the bus and the bus guys started pulling out tools and a torch. I seized the opportunity to have a cigarette and a pee. I grabbed the camera and stood at the back of the bus while I watched the bus guys bang away at something, then scratch their heads, then other bus we met at the rest stop pulled over and gave our bus guys a jack. After jacking up the tyre and a bit more random banging the driver jumped back on the bus and started spinning the back wheel at full revs. The tyre stopped instantly when he hit the brakes and again they seemed satisfied so I got back on the bus and we sped off into the night.

The benefit of night time meant we couldn’t see the road. But we could feel it. In the darkness it felt like we were hammering along like a roller coaster as we were thrown from one side to the other with every corner on a road that was only corners. Prue slept fairly soundly as did a few of the western girls. I Probably got an hours sleep and when I did wake up from a sleep (usually waking while flying sideways) I had a crook neck from the contortionist like position I was asleep in and couldn’t move my legs because they were stuck under the feet of one of the French girls.

It was freezing on the bus as they left the air con on full all night so I pilfered a bit of Prue’s blanket, threw my hoodie over my eyes and sat back in the chair and escaped to the Dark Side of the Moon on the iPod. Just after 4am the bus stopped at a road block and we got off to go to the toilet (the toilet stops are all just on the side of the road, girls at the back of the bus), walking back to the bus I noticed that the driver and the other bus guys had rolled out straw mats next to the bus, and were climbing into sleeping bags.

Without any explanation all the power was turned off on the bus, and we stood there wondering “what the hell is going on?”. We were being treated like shit by the bus guys, none of them spoke to us or explained anything and when they did tell us something it was always with hostility. Eventually we were able to get enough single word responses to figure out that we were at the Vietnam border, which did not open until 7am. It was freezing cold outside and not much better on the bus. But as the bus was no longer flying suicidally around corners, I managed get about two hours sleep.
At about 6:30am the boom gate to the border opened and we walked in to the border control to find that we still had to wait until 7am to proceed. As the bus people never spoke to us and conveniently ignored us whenever we asked questions we spent a fair amount of time standing around not knowing what we were supposed to do.

When the departure counter finally did open the angriest of the bus guys told us to give him our passports and asked for US$1. The girls were all a bit sceptical as we were so tired of being scammed for money, but after a bit of an argument we pretty much conceited that we would have to pay the dollar for the stamp. I changed the last of my Dong into Kip and as our stamped passports were handed back to us, we turned our back on Vietnam and walked through the door to “No Mans Land” down the road to Laos, where the second leg of our bus trip and the fourth chapter in our travels would begin…

The Brides.

With no more than about 12 hours to explore Hanoi we decided not to bother with a hotel. The tour office at Ocean Tours was nice enough to let us chill out upstairs using the internet, drinking free coffee (and Milo) and we could shower to freshen up. A few hours after we had arrived from the Sapa overnight train, we had refreshed ourselves, recharged our camera and netbook, dumped our photos, updated our internets, written postcards, changed our clothes, repacked our bags and chatted with the Aussie couple who’d travelled from Sapa with us. They were about to head out on the Ha Long Bay tour we’d done three days prior. We just wanted the cafes to open for breakfast.

The caf้s did open, and we returned to the fancy one and had more Nordic Eggs. I suppose I don’t need to re-list the lavish ingredients, buy I will note it only cost $5 each, including real coffee. With our energy replenished we headed out into the quiet Sunday morning. Hanoi is a crazy chaotic city with endless streams of scooters zigzagging in every direction in a mess of horns and exhaust fumes. Except on Sunday mornings. That Sunday morning everything moved at a much softer and quieter pace, it was almost peaceful without the constant blaring horns and ducking and weaving traffic. The exhaust fumes still lingered, they gathered and swirled to form a thick layer of rich smog.

We walked to the Theatre to buy a ticket to the Water Puppet show for later in the afternoon, with a stroke of luck we arrived at 9:30 to find that there was a Sunday morning show at 9:30. We paid too much for a VIP ticket sitting near the front that let us use our camera, but we didn’t realise we’d paid to use our camera, so while sitting inside the dark theatre, we did use our camera. But we did it like sneaky stealthy ninjas. Ironically almost none of the photos worked. Without the flash the puppets were too blurry and when we did use the flash it picked up too much mist in the atmosphere. Oh well, the video worked well.

The puppet show was amazing and good honest fun. Sure they are designed for kids, but it was definitely a spectacle which appeals to all ages. Basically a group of puppeteers stand in knee deep water behind a screen and use long poles to move puppets around on the surface of the water in front of the screen. The water is dark and gives the illusion that the puppets are walking on the water (or swimming, rowing, fishing etc.) and all of this is accompanied by a traditional musical instruments and singing performed by the band on the side of the stage.

After the puppet show we went for a walk around the lake, which was convenient as we were already at the lake and to not walk around it seemed a waste. The lake was quite pretty, despite the lingering smog and greenish sludge that alleged tortoise live in. But without the sludge there wouldn’t be a lake as the sludge is the lake. We found it hard to believe tortoise could live in the sludge, but the gardens around the lake were quite pretty and scattered with some quite obviously phallic and almost vulgar sculptures.


There were a lot of couples on benches around the lake, perhaps drawing inspiration from the garden art. There were people playing badminton as there almost always is, there were energetic forms of Thai Chi, contemplative students, squealing children on bicycles. But more than anything else, the lake was drowning in Brides.

It would be a funny thing to be a bride at the lake in the Old Town precinct of Hanoi on that smoggy Sunday morning. I could imagine that a bride returning to the professional photographer weeks later to see to proofs of the photos, would probably entail a humorous conversion at the point where you realise every single photo contains at least one other, completely different and unknown bride, lingering in a pose across the other side of the lake in the background of the photo. Yes, there were lots of brides at the lake, and shit food too. We ordered a drink instead and left the lake, sad that we didn’t spot a tortoise, and suspicious whether the tortoise saw us.

We walked around the streets for a while sucking in the energy of Hanoi mixed with a solid portion of smog, and found our way to a foot massage place situated five floors up stairs, that required a foot massage after climbing, so was actually quite convenient. Our feet and legs still ached from climbing the hills of Sapa and our foot massage (which actually covered shoulders head and back too) was so relaxing I drifted in and out of snoozing, trying hard not to snore while the lady rubbed away.

The massage was perfect but was let down by a few irritating details. The first being the guy sitting next to Prue who smoked a cigarette throughout his massage, not too pleasant when in a room with closed windows five floors up. The second was the massage lady who began her spiel by letting us know she was overworked and underpaid, the ended the massage by asking for a tip. I would have given her a tip if she had not asked, because the massage was good. By asking for a tip, they make you feel shit, you don’t want to tip them after they ask, so we didn’t.

The third let down was our lunch. We walked past a nice looking restaurant on the way back downstairs. The view from the balcony at the restaurant looked out over the street to an intersection of five roads. In Saigon we were treated to the joys of watching busy traffic from a vantage point, sadly being Sunday there wasn’t as much traffic, but it was still entertaining to watch and you always think any second there will be an accident, but it never happens. The view was nice, the food was shit, it reminded me of the lake, we could still see the lake. I figure it is the lake’s fault the food was shit, or it could be the chain restaurant we choose to eat in.

We wandered through the street stores and markets back to the travel office to regroup. Back at the travel office Prue remembered she wanted a pillow for the 24 hour bus ride to Laos. We wandered back through the street stores and markets looking for a pillow. It is a funny thing that when looking for something you never find it, but when you stop looking (or have found it) it is everywhere.



The streets of Old Town are named according to the things that are generally sold there. The street our travel office was on was called “silver” street, and there is a “shoe street” for shoes a “silk street” for clothes and a street for toys but we didn’t know what it was called, probably “toys street”. Either way we took a punt and headed to “cotton street” to find Prue a pillow, greatly reducing our chances of not finding what we were looking for.

After acquiring the pillow filled with cotton for a “cheap cheap” price, we wandered back to the sanctuary of the travel office. Prue comically tried to sell her pillow for double what she paid to every street seller that stopped us to buy something for double what it was worth. The shoe was on the other foot, and strangely it made walking “home” a lot easier. Back at our upstairs little haven at the travel office we reorganised our bags, showered, changed into clean clothes, updated our internets again, dumped more photos and I drank more free coffee adding free Milo into the mix for extra flavour.

Feeling fresh again we thanked our hosts at Ocean Travel for their hospitality and headed off around the corner to catch our bus to Laos. We were finally leaving Vietnam, though about a week behind schedule and with a sour taste left in our mouth from the aggressive money scamming personality of many Vietnamese. Regardless, Vietnam was a beautiful country and we met many lovely non-ruthless people Hopefully our bus would get us across the border before our visa ran out, so that we’d be able to return to paddle the caves of Ha Long bay, walk the hills of Sapa, peruse the stores of Hoi An , cruise the various mountain roads on an Easy Rider or just sit and watch the traffic.

These Hills Were Made for Walking

We left Ocean Tours in a Taxi provided by them and saying goodbye they told us three times that the taxi had been paid for. This seemed like overkill to us as we’d heard him the first time. When we got to the station our taxi driver asked for cash. With our extensive knowledge of the dodginess of some Vietnamese people we smiled at him and laughingly told him that it was a nice try. He smiled a little and let us grab our bags and head into the station. We were pointed across a train yard and to our surprise we had to walk across the tracks to find our train. After crossing about 5 lines past parked and shunting trains we found our platform 9 and พ’s. We climbed on the train into a nice compartment with some locals and made ourselves at home. The bed was hard but the blankets were lovely and clean so we chilled out and read until the train headed off and then relaxed for a nice sleep.

We arrived into Sapa at 5:30am, after being woken up only about 10 minutes before we arrived we stumbled off the train expecting it to be freezing. But the station at the bottom of the mountain isn’t that cold so we were lulled into a false sense of security and decided that we’d think about warm clothes when we got to the hotel where we were to meet our guide. We walked out of the station and found a man holding our names and followed him to the bus that was to take us to the mountain. We headed up a long winding mountain road as the morning finally started breaking. We were thinking about taking photo’s and had decided we’d take them when we reached Sa Pa and weren’t on a moving bus.

Just after this conversation we headed into the cloud line and the temperature started to plummet. Mmm…maybe not changing wasn’t such a good idea after all. When we reached what we assumed was Sapa (as we hadn’t seen anything in the fog for about an hour) the door was finally opened to allow passengers out and we got our first taste of the freezing temperatures on the mountain. It was at this point that we also saw the colourful Sapa ladies who follow you around trying to got you to buy some of their handmade materials. We had been warned that they were like Hyenas and would follow anyone, but if you show you’re weak or wounded they would pounce on mass.

We were the last stop on the bus and we got off out our hotel and walked into reception. We weren’t staying at the hotel, but because our tour company also has the hotel stay there, they would store some of our luggage. When we got there tired from the train they surprised us with the use of one of their rooms for a hot shower and to rearrange our bags so we only needed our day trip bags and not our big backpacks. After cleaning up and organising everything we headed down for our free breakfast and to wait to meet our guide. There had been a girl in reception when we got there who was dressed in local traditional clothes. I had suggested to Drew that she might be our guide. Drew didn’t think so and I began to agree thinking that it was more likely it would be a normal guide like all our other tours.

After a great breakfast we waited in reception and were greeted by a bubbly, colourful local who said ‘hi, my name’s So, but if it helps you can just call me So So’. With a grin and a happy moment of her saying ‘and you’re short like me’ (So was actually about 3 inches shorter than me, I was a GIANT!! First time for everything), we headed off. We walked out of the hotel into the foggy day and were immediately set upon by about 5 local Sapa girls in all their lovely clothes. They didn’t seem to want to sell us anything, they just walked with us and chatted to us, in mostly perfect English, about where they were from and their names etc. We walked through town past the human like screams of a pig being slaughtered and down a steep foggy road with loads of people heading off for trekking just like us.

The thick fog created an image in our head that we were the only ones in the whole town heading off trekking. But when we stopped early at a toilet stop and saw the milling hikers and their entourage of locals following them down the mountain. After a quick break we headed off the road and down a muddy path straight down the mountain. The lower we got on the mountain the more the landscape opened up. We were about 5kms into the trek when you could really start to see the amazing impact that man has had on this environment. The hills were cut into stepped fields that went from the bottom to the top of mountains.

Walking down between them we saw water races, water buffalo and many other animals. It was winter though and there didn’t seem to be too much in the fields at this point. We were still with some people at this point, but mainly it was just So, who kept us moving at a blistering paces so that we were overtaking hikers left and right while the Sapa girls followed behind weaving horses and love hearts out of foliage to gain our affection. We’d walked about 9kms downhill when we reached the valley floor and So found us a beautiful route through the fields and along the river. Sadly this tactic, though beautiful, allowed me to both slip down a small hill and then further on I had the remarkable idea that I should take a dip in a creek. Luckily I only got one booted foot in before some of the Sapa girls came to my rescue. With a bunch of giggles from So we linked arms and made for the Lunch break at a village called Lao Chai village which was So’s home village.

The cultural group was the Black Hmong, So had married to a Black Hmong man at another village though. As soon as we sat down and waited for lunch the Sapa girls descended. We were kind of happy to get the hard sell out of the way early though and boy could they hard sell. They made my old candle shop forced selling look like kindergarten. After about 15 minutes of the hard sell So bought us lunch and the girls fell back. Drew and I discussed tactics and seeing as I wanted one of the bags that they made but nothing else we agreed that I’d buy a few friendship bracelets that looked a bit dodgy but we figure they would then have not walk 14kms for nothing. I picked my bag and a few bracelets and paid about $5 all up before sadly saying I couldn’t get anything else.

After lunch the girls didn’t follow us and we were left to wander the extra 3kms to our homestay. We passed through several small villages dropping past a school before we reached the village we were staying in. The village was called Ta Van which belonged to the Green Zai cultural group. The house was cute and clean and unlike what we feared (which was separate guest rooms) it appeared we got a curtained off area in their lounge room to sleep in. It had a lovely thick blanket and seeing as it was so cold they gave us an extra one just in case.

As it was only about 2pm I abandoned my wet sock and shoes to So to put by the fire and Drew and I headed off to walk around the village. We walked for hours, but sadly as it started to get really cold, my thongs weren’t doing the job so we headed back. We met another couple from Munich where we are headed before heading to Laura and Headley’s wedding and we had a great time chatting with them about places to go in Munich. The guy was really tall and helped the ladies pick some fruit from the tree just next to the house.

We chatted with So and she told us about her husband and her daughter. She also showed us some photo’s of her family that she had got from travellers who come before us. Her daughter had just turned 3 and was off to school already. As it started to get dark all the ladies in the family, some of the guys and both us and the other couple made our way into the kitchen and sat on tiny little stools around the cooking fire. So and the other guide Sinh cooked us an amazing meal as we watched. So and Sinh told us stories and myths from their different cultural groups and explained which traditions had been dropped with time and which traditions were still practiced today as well as many other insights into their cultural groups.

The mum in the house had just had a little girl 3 weeks before we were there and the baby sat in mums arms with all of us. It felt like a family dinner and we were invited. That’s what you hope for when you do a homestay and we were so excited that it seemed we’d been allowed in to their private lives with them. So double checked that we were ok with eating with the family as she’d told us that some tourists had chucked tantrums and didn’t want to have to eat with the family. We were happy to be invited and they seemed very happy to share the experience with us. After an amazing meal So brought out some homemade rice wine which she wanted us to try. I only had a little bit and I think it burned a hole in my tummy. Drew and the German guy had a few shots, but even they called it quits after that. With full bellies we all went back to our sleeping areas and after such a big walk slept like logs.

We woke early and So and Sinh had both made us a huge pile of pancakes and had some bananas to have with them on the side. It was lovely. After saying goodbye to the family and giving them our heartfelt thanks we headed off, me arm in arm with So and Drew bringing up the rear. Drew turned around early on and told some girls who started to follow us, that they were welcome to follow, but we wouldn’t be buying anything today. The girls melted away and we powered on passing other groups again and making for a bamboo forest that we had to walk through to get to a water fall and today was to be mainly up hill.

Sadly it was still pretty foggy and though beautiful we still couldn’t see the amazing views that we knew we were passing. After slipping and sliding our way to the waterfall we grabbed a photo with So and headed down for a bit to the village of Giang Ta Cha (Zan Te Cha) which is a village that has both Green Zai and Red Zai cultural groups. So made us a beautiful lunch again and then we headed across a local suspension bridge and up a hill to the road. This took us to our total of 25kms hiking and So organised our transport in an old army jeep back up to Sapa. The fog was so bad now that we could literally only see about 1m in front of the bonet of the car. We kept our fingers crossed as our driver flew around the corners only just missing trucks and busses coming the other way.

We got back to the hotel and dropped off our stuff and So said she’d show us through the local markets before we headed off. We wandered up through the markets and So showed us some items and told us the price we should pay for some of the things. She then finally said goodbye and after many hugs with me she left us to explore on our own. I ended up buying one of the scarfs that are traditional among the Black Hmong (So’s cultural group) and Drew and I bought some more friendship bracelets, though these one were actually made in Sapa and not China like we found out the ones we bought the day before at lunch were.

We headed back to the hotel and were again surprised to learn that we had access to a room again. After another hot shower and a change of clothes we headed down to the mini van and down the mountain to the train. We chatted with another Australian and American couple and then found our train car and basically crashed after a huge two days. We got back to Hanoi at 4:30am and seeing as we were on the same tour we shared a taxi with the Australian couple and rang the bell to be let back into the Ocean Tours office. We made our way to the top floor and relaxed for a few hours drinking free tea and coffee and interneting while waiting for the local cafes to open for breakfast.

Tofu

When booking our tour for Ha Long Bay we took the advice we had reiterated to us by a host of travellers as we travelled north, -”you get what you pay for”. So we booked from the tour office that was recommended to us and were amazed to find that they offer traveller services, a hot shower, toilet, internet, a kitchen and a comfy place to hang out. From this tour office we were able to spend time in Hanoi with out staying in a Hotel. But no time for much the first morning,

After arriving in Hanoi at 6am from the Sleeper bus we were already on our way to Ha Long bay on a very comfortable tour bus by 8:30am. Our tour to Ha Long bay was great fun, on the way we easily struck up conversations with every one on the Bus. Offering advice to an old Irish couple who had just arrived in Vietnam, and swapping travelling stories with an English girl we had seen the day before in Hue. There was a French couple a German couple, an Aussie couple from a country town in Gippsland (who study in Melbourne) and another Aussie girl and Kiwi girl who had some great stories.

By the time we arrived at the boat and sat down to eat a banquet on the boat everyone felt comfortable like sitting down for a family dinner. The boat was really luxurious with three decks, a bar and restaurant and cabins to sleep about 12 or so people, all decked out in ornate dark wood. As we had booked last minute there was no room for us to sleep on the boat, so we were spending two nights on the island. The island was a private island with a small bar and restaurant and about 12 bungalows set in between the cliffs and the beach, while it would have been nice to stay on the boat, we were pretty happy with the island.

For our lunch on the boat we were served a feast of Crabs, Prawns, Calamari, Fish and numerous other culinary delights. The old Irish couple had been told by their travel doctor not to eat Shellfish in Asia and as they were going to Australia after Vietnam they were more than happy to just eat beef and chicken. So we were more than happy to make sure the surplus Crabs and Prawns didn‘t go to waste. The only annoyance on the boat was the drink prices were a little high. But complaining that beer is expensive when it is still only $1.50 is a bit pointless.

On the way through Ha Long bay we were flanked on either side by the most amazing cliffs and islands jutting out of the sea. Our guide told us their was 1969 islands in Ha Long bay, but Ha Long bay is just one of three bays covered in thousands of islands and spectacular scenery. Unfortunately for us on our first day there was quite a heavy fog, or maybe sea mist or maybe it was pollution. Either way the entire horizon was shadowed with the hazy silhouettes of the islands. But by the time we were halfway through lunch we were surrounded by magnificent views and it was a dilemma whether to finish eating the amazing food or run outside and take photos from the top deck.

After lunch we stopped in an inlet surrounded by tall islands but protected from the sea. The water was a calm and beautiful crystal clear pale blue. We hopped into to Kayaks and paddled amongst the cliffs and through an open cave to hidden lagoon, spending most of the time just drifting along with our jaws open bewildered by the scenery. Our guide said that each year he only ever sees two or three monkeys. We were lucky enough to spot two monkeys playing in the tree-tops high above.

Around 5pm we had to say goodbye to the other people we had met as they were staying on the boat and we were transferred to the island. Our transfer was another large, beautifully carved wooden boat which we had all to our self, with only the captain and first mate aboard. Prue and I danced around on the top deck as we basically rotated around taking in the 360 degree views for the hour and a half trip to the island. We arrived at the island and found another group already there but the people travelling didn’t really seem as much fun as our group from the boat. So after eating a yummy BBQ and retiring to our cabin we weren’t too upset to wake up the next morning to find everyone had left, and we had the entire place to our self.

Our own private island was actually exactly as nice as it sounds. We spent the day just chilling out, Prue sat in her rocking chair on the balcony and read a book while soaking up the view. I went for a bit of a paddle in the sea kayak, then played a couple of locals at pool while sipping Black Russians. For lunch we got a sea taxi, which was no more than a wooden dingy with an engine and an tarp for a roof, to take us to Cat Ba island.

Then after returning to our private island we were greeted by our group from the boat the previous day. Needless to say we spent the night laughing and drinking and telling stories of our travels on our own private island paradise. Our last day was spent cruising back through the cliffs soaking up the sun on the top deck of the boat, while soaking up the amazing views. The sea mist pollution fog had cleared a lot more and the depth and the sheer size of the islands was incredible and surrounded us in every direction with a magical view.

We arrived back in Hanoi and said goodbye to the Irish couple who were rushed off in a taxi to catch a flight to Hoi An. We made use of the travellers lounge area at the tour office and chilled out on the cushions and Skype’d home, repacked our bags and freshened up. Then we joined the Aussie couple for a quick dinner before another goodbye as they caught the sleeper train south to Hue. Again we had no time to explore Hanoi as by 9pm we were settling into the firm bed of the sleeper train heading north to the mountain village of Sapa…