5 - 8 April 2008

Whiskey, or death?

Originally the hills and mountains of Laos were covered by impenetrable jungle, in about eighty different shades of green. Much of the jungle has been cut now, but still people are slashing and burning, providing themselves with farmland. The blackened and lifeless slopes, smelling of death, make us feel like we're cycling through hell, which is not exactly what we left the Netherlands for. The fast growing population of Laos has to eat though, we definitely agree to that.
It's going to be a long day of climbing under the burning sun when we leave Vang Vieng. We're followed by a cyclist pulling a bobcar: Chris Humphrey from England is going the same direction we do. We talk and decide to continue together. He has flown to Bangkok and cycles via Laos to China, his final destinations being Lhasa and Nepal. This is his first cycling trip outside of Europe and Australia and he is having a good time.

A short while later, when we're having a break, Ben and Jess from the United States of America catch up with us and then there's five of us. Ben and Jess also wanted to go to China, but their plans met a hurdle in the form of suddenly tripled visa prices for Americans to 180 dollar per person. They have decided to go to Thailand instead and are now cycling to Laos' most northern border. Ben and Jess are lightly packed and cycle faster than we do.
During a lunch break we meet again and together we devour a gargantuous honey melon.

At the end of the day we find a small bungalow park next to a hot spring, where a sixth cyclist joins us: Tommer from Israel. Whilst all of the cyclists' muscles completely relax in the hot water, Tommer announces to be very happy to have the company of other cyclists during his trip the following days.

Next morning though he is first to disappear and we will never see him again...
After a short two kilometres descent Laos burdens us with a 22 kilometres climb. During one of our breaks a group of fifteen Chinese motorcyclists appears from the opposite direction; they are all heavily packed and carry huge Chinese and Olympic flags, tied to the motorbikes.
They enthusiastically wave and shout at us and one of them stops to take a picture with us. The man stands right next to Peter; together they hold the Olympic flag, Peter pushes his right leg a bit more to the front for the picture. A couple of years ago I have sewn a 'Free Tibet' label onto his shorts, at knee level. The Chinese biker hasn't seen it, but back home he's in for a surprise.

At the junction in Phou Khoun the Americans go straight, while the three of us turn off to the east, direction Phonsavan.
The road keeps on ascending, we go higher and higher and the temperature cools down a bit. At five o'clock, after a long and strenuous day, we finally arrive in Phou Viang. Smoke whirls up from some half open huts and we smell the scent of lao-lao, the locally brewed Lao whiskey made from fermented sticky rice. Every village in Laos brews its own whiskey, so why not Phou Viang.
It seems that whiskey is indeed available, but accommodation is not. We see no alternative but to arrange for a mini-truck to transport us to Nam Chat, 24 kilometres further. The promised guesthouse in this village turns out to be an old shed with broken windows, where construction workers of the new school next door sleep. There's no power and no water, only three wooden beds without mattresses.
It takes two seconds to get used to the Spartan room, but after years of camping it's no problem at all.
We do our bathing outside, with cold water from an old oil drum. We eat in a local restaurant, and a number one and two can be done in an old corrugated shed in the back.

Monday April 7th we peddle to Phonsavan, in the province of Xieng Khonang. Cycling out of the village of Nam Chat we glance at the dead squirrels and wild marmots at the food stalls, wanted for their meat and fur. Lao people eat anything, just like the Chinese and Cambodians.
Again a long climb follows, then we arrive at a plain where we find a village selling our favorite juice: sugar cane!
The village children are either afraid or super enthusiastic when they see three white people on bicycles.

After checking in to our room in Phonsavan a violent storm explodes that has been threatening for a long time. Within ten minutes the main street is completely filled with water and the cars are throwing up splashings of water.
Phonsavans business guys have no problems finding us and we negotiate a good price with one of them for tomorrow's day-trip: the day of jars and whiskey.

The next morning Chris, four backpackers and us are sitting comfortably in a luxury SUV with aircon. Our guide is mister Wee, a young and formidable local who has studied the English language. His wish is to teach English at a high school, but he considers his knowledge unsufficient now and first wants to practice. So, by guiding foreigners, he hopes to enhance his language skills.
The first sight during our excursion is a hilltop housing the largest 'Plain of Jars' ever found in Laos. Dozens of similar fields with huge stone jars have been found in the country.

At this hilltop, fourteen kilometres from Phonsavan, over two hundred of the jars lie dispersed. Most of them are intact, others lie in pieces or miss a part.
The smallest jar measures about one metre in height, the largest is three metres. It is an incredible and strange phenomenon: in the middle of a grass field with some bushes and trees hundreds of extraordinary jars lie shattered. Not something one would expect at an ordinary hilltop.
Wee tells us that the heavy jars originate from the Iron Age, about 2,500 years ago. Even after years of scientific investigation archeologists don't agree about the original function of the jars. They found human bones and pieces of jewelry in some of the jars, which would point to a burial ritual, but there's still no real evidence.

Local legend has a completely different and more practical explanation reflecting ancient as well as current daily life in Laos. A long, long time ago the people in this area were brutalized by a violent tyrant, called Chao Angka. After some years they were fed up with the suppression and secretly organised a plan to get rid of him. They urgently asked Khun Jeuam, the hero of the Tai-Lao in southern China, to free them of their oppressor, which he did.
So, after many, many years a sad and bloody period finally ended and people had sufficient reason for a huge celebration.
Party time!
To make this celebration an unforgettable one, they started to brew large amounts of rice wine. For the fermentation of the rice huge jars were needed, which they built from a kind of cement, consisting of the grinded skin of water buffalo, sand, water and sugar cane.
The size of the jars reflects the joy of the people after getting rid of the early Hitler.

The second attraction of the day is a visit to a small whiskey brewery, where locals show us the ingenious methods they have been using for ages to make this delicious fluid.
Exactly how they brew the stuff, we don't remember very well. But after gulping down a glass of the first grade rice whiskey, I am a 100 % sure that the legend is right.
The jars were whiskey barrels, there's absolutely no doubt.