12 - 17 April 2008

First extremely wet, then very very dark

At the worst and the best moment of the year we arrive in the old capital of Lane Xang (the former name of Laos, meaning: The Land of a million Elephants): Luang Prabang.
The best moment, because it's Phi Mai, the Buddhist New Year, which is celebrated best in this city of Luang Prabang. The worst, because of the enormous amount of tourists, the lack of accommodation and the tripling of prices.
But, we are lucky. The first hotels we try are fully booked, but then we meet Rolf and Morten, a Norwegian couple, who have booked and payed a room for friends, who haven't shown up. For a reduced price we get this room, and donate the money to War Child, at Rolf's request. He is an art painter, and Morten works for refugees in Oslo.
Singthong is their Laotian friend who produces handmade paper, which Rolf uses for his paintings. He invites us for dinner at his family home, right on our first evening in Luang Prabang. We're exhausted, but accept the offer with pleasure. And it is going to be a special evening. Sitting on the floor a glass of Beer Lao continuously goes round and everyone drinks from it. There's no fear of aids, foot-and-mouth-disease, or giardia here. And of course we eat with our fingers: sticky rice, ground crickets with green mango (a true delicatessen), fish and several vegetables dishes.
After the meal the whole family walks to the big fair, which would have fit perfectly in Europe in the sixties of the last century: throwing balls at cans, a small merry-go-round, throwing darts at balloons and a rickety looking tiny ferriswheel.
Late in the evening Peter and I stumble back to our hotel, dead-tired after a very long day.

Luang Prabang is completely out of its mind. Officially the Phi Mai Lao Festival starts the day after our arrival and the whole city is blazing with excitement. Part of the Phi Mai fun is the water throwing festival; by throwing water at anybody people wash away the sins of the past year and wish each other well.
The first day of the three-day-festival the Buddha statues are taken from the temples to be cleaned with blessed water. On the sandbank at the other side of the Mekong many people build a sand-stupa, which will bring them happiness in the next year.
We try to sneak through the water throwing crowds to get to the river, but are soaked before we're halfway. There's no way of staying dry, since we white tourists are an especially desirable target.

Amidst hundreds of locals we sail to the other side of the river in a small boat. Thousands of people are wandering around, others build sand stupa's and everyone throws water and white flower.
Foodstalls are everywhere, bands play Lao rock music and hundreds of yellow beer crates disfigure the landscape but give an even more pleasant dimension to the mood of the joyful people.
At the far end of the sandbank people fire huge firework rockets into the sky; by doing this they ask the gods for good rains for the crops.
At night we by coincidence meet Chris, who has made a cycle trip in the east of Laos after saying farewell to us in Phonsavan. He's just arrived and like good cyclists do, we have a nice bike talk.

On the second and third day of the festival people carry the statue of the Prabang Buddha through town, in a big parade.
Four Laotioan beauties open the parade, followed by Laotian flags, groups of ethnic tribal people in several different costumes, drumming men, the Pougneu Nagna Gneu figures with red masks and hairy skins, wagons full of soaked monks, demons and boys dressed like Hanuman-monkeys.
The rear end of the parade consists of groups of singing people, of whom most seem to have nipped abundantly from alcohol of all kinds of percentages.
Chris, Peter and myself are just a fraction too late taking cover when an enormous water cannon starts its destructive work. Everybody and anything, including photo cameras and video cameras, gets soaked.
A terrific end of a very wet week.
We decide to head for Hongsa the next day, the place of the elephants!

At eight o'clock we drag the bags and bikes over a wobbly plank unto the slow boat sailing upstream the Mekong river to the northwest of Laos. The wooden boat consists of a cabin for the captain, a long open space with old bus chairs and wooden banks for the passengers, and in the back the noisy engine room.
Although they call it the slow ferry, the old machine goes fast. Here, the Mekong is a dangerous river, with sand banks, underwater rocks and fast swirling water. The captain is very alert and constantly turns the steering wheel to keep the boat in the right direction and away from the dangers.
We pass several hamlets, built from reed and bamboo, where the locals traditionally make a living by fishing and growing crops at the river. Roads are nonexistent, the Mekong still is the life blood of the rural countryside here.

At half past four, over four hours later than scheduled, we arrive in Tha Suang, a village of ten houses. Here the road to Hongsa starts.
Well, eh, road... it turns out to be no more than a wide path of stones, gravel and mud, which of course leads right up into the surrounding mountains.
It's only 27 kilometres to Hongsa and we take our chance, despite the late hour. We have about two hours before dark. Staying here isn't an alternative, because there's nothing more than two stalls with cool drinks and beer.
The start of the path is terrific: leaving the village we have to cycle and walk up a track resembling a dry, very steep riverbed. Within a minute our heartbeat rises to 200, our heads ache and we moan and groan like retired donkeys. This wasn't mentioned in any leaflet.
After the first kilometre it gets a little better, though not a lot. But, we do manage to cycle.
Around us there's only jungle, and every insect announces our arrival with eardeafening sounds. The dentist drill of the cicadas wins. Another insect, disguised as a flower, walks from branch to branch, looking for the best place to cheat his predators. Together with the stick insect, the cameleon and the living autumn leaf this flora-con is the most beautiful and special animal of our entire journey.

We keep on climbing, pass a waterfall and after the sun has set it slowly gets dark. I dread cycling in the dark, especially on non-existing roads like this. I let out a hysterical scream when I nearly fall.
'Let's pitch the tent when we see another waterfall and continue tomorrow,' I beg.
'But we don't have anything to eat!' Peter replies.
'Well, I don't care,' I say. 'We can do without for a night, I don't mind at all.'
I look at him defiantly and see that Peter starts to doubt. He knows I'm right, but I'm sure he wants to end the day in Hongsa, as planned. And yes, he starts trying to convince me.
'Come on, I'm pretty sure it's not very far to the top from here, then we only have to descend.'
'Yeah, that's fun, in the dark!'
'But look, there's a full moon, we will be able to see everything!'
'Pfff, I doubt it. Well, alright then, let's finish it.'
When we finally reach the top of the pass it is very dark.
A downhill follows, but even a full moon doesn't shine a lot of light on a rough road between trees. I follow Peter's rear light at a short distance, we dive from one hole into another, and bump over rocks and tree trunks. Attracted by the weak light of our headlights dozens of fireflies and moths circle around us.
We nearly shove into the abyss after a nasty curve with invisible gravel.
And then we arrive in Hongsa.
Tired.
Tense.
And with a light kind of whiplash.
I was right, but we are here now.
Everything's fine.