Missing In Action.

The first part of this entry I wrote days ago, but the computer locked up and I lost the lot. Gutted!

Mad Monk-day Morning

We dragged our sorry arses out of bed at 5.30am to go and see the monks collecting alms. Staggering down the street all blurry-eyed, we settled ourselves on the curb of the main street of Luang Prabang. As the sun slowly rose, more and more people started to gather. They lined up along the edge of the street, each carry gifts of food for the monks. After about half an hour the monks started to appear. A long line a bright orange in the early morning light, made its way down the street.

We joined the end of the long line of people. At the market the night before we'd bought some fruit, which we had brought along with us. Silently the monks filed past us, opening the lid of their alms bowls, so that we may deposit a piece of fruit in each. The elder monks lead the way. Not far from the front, showing his high position in the monastery, was our 'monk mate'. Without raising his eyes, he whispered, "Good morning, how are you?" We smiled, responding in hushed tones that we were well.

As well as those offering gifts of food and money to the monks, there was also the beggars. They sit with a basket in front of them, waiting for gifts from the monks. The monks take some of the food they have been given and place it into the baskets. These are usually cheeky young boys, who end up laden down with biscuits and sweets.

It rained most the that day, so we stayed in, read and played cards. That night we had our weekly food treat. L'Elephant is a French/Lao restaurant, and very posh in that colonial kind of way. A 3 course meal with wine cost us a huge 25 pounds. A real splurge on our part, but well worth it as the food was very good, with such a meal in the U.K. costing well over a 100 pounds.

Heading South.

We got up the next morning, and left what had been a nice base for a week. At the Luang Prabang bus station we met an Aussie guy called Brad, who was traveling to Phosavanh. This is the main town for seeing the Plain Of Jars, the mystical Neolithic site. Here thousands of huge stone jars litter the countryside. It is thought that they were likely burial chambers, but no one is quite sure.

We climbed aboard the local bus, for what was a 7 hour journey through the mountains. Apart from the locals the only tourists on the bus were ourselves, Brad, a Belgium couple and a couple from Scotland. We settled in for the long ride ahead and noticed the guy in the seat across from us. AK-47 in hand, he 'locked-and-loaded', ready for the journey ahead. A little un-nerving, he was there for our protection. Route 7 through the mountains is somewhat notorious for bandits. Buses have often been held-up, so the armed escort was supposed to make us feel better. The fact that he spent most of the journey asleep, with his feet resting on the barrel of the gun didn't quite instill that feeling of safety.

At times that bus ride was a little hairy. Mud-slides partly blocking the road, parts of the road at one point had fallen away. The driver didn't seem phased by any of this as he swung it around every tight hair-pin bend. As we neared Phosavanh we heard a loud pop, and then a hiss. We'd blown a tire! Once again not phased by this the driver merely carried on into town.

From the station we grabbed a mini-bus into the small town centre, found ourselves a guesthouse and went out to have a look around. There isn't much to see. Pretty much we who'd come in on the bus were the only westerns here. Brad had gone out to find a bank and been accosted by a Californian girl, who was there with her Aussie boyfriend. They were looking for people to hook up with, so that the trip out to the Plain Of Jars would be cheaper. It was arranged for us all to meet in an Indian restaurant later that night.

So there we were 11 westerns in total, chatting and getting along well. 8 of us wanted to go to the same place, to see all 3 sites that are available to be seen. Well that have been cleared of UXO (Unexploded Ordinance). A deal was struck with a tour company, we ended paying $3 a piece, a bargain. Most people filtered off to bed, to get ready for the early start the next morning. That left only Sam, myself and a Spanish guy called Jose wandering the streets looking for the most happening place in the town. We found the night club. Well we say night club, and the sign outside did too, however it looked like something all too different. The nearest description would be a village hall disco, or a cheap and nasty wedding. Lines of tables and plastic chairs, bad discos lighting, and strange western songs covered by Lao or Thai artists. Needless to say we only stayed for one drink, then headed for bed.

Plain Of Jars

The next morning we all met up at the tour office. The 8 of us were made-up of Sam and Myself, Brad, the Scottish couple (Ian and Mary), Brett and Sarah (Aussie & Yank), and our clubbing partner Jose. Off we went towards site 1, of The Plain Of Jars. After a short drive we pulled up in front of a huge sign. At the top a big Skull-and-crossbones on a red background, with the letters MAG next to it. MAG stands for the Mines Advisory Group. A U.K. based bomb disposal organisation. They listed on the sign how much area had been cleared, and how many bombs had been found there. Next to that another sign advising us to stay within the white markers, as outside the marks it was still quite literally a mine field.

Anyway, taking heed of the notices we set off to find these famous jars. Oh and did we find jars! Some over 2 metres high, and a good few feet across, they do quite litter the landscape. Carved from stone they were well worth seeing, and as mystical as had been made out. Apart from jars at site 1, there is a cave. It is thought that this was the crematorium, where bodies would be burnt, before been interned in a jar. It was also used as a shelter during the mass bombing of the country by the U.S., in the war they never fought! The secret war, the war they said never happened. Well we saw the craters, lots of them. The landscape is pock-marked, a moonscape still after nearly 40 years.

We moved on, to site 2 and then site 3, which we liked the best. By this time it was becoming a case of a 'jar was a jar'. The walk through the paddy fields and over the rickety bamboo bridge made this particular site the best. At one point I was behind everyone else, as we moved in single file through the paddy field. Both Ian and I had the same idea, that this was just like a scene from a Nam movie. All we needed was the smell of Naplam, and VC soldiers hidden among the rice paddy.

Apart from the 3 sites, we also visited the Whiskey Village, which wasn't actually making any whiskey that day. We got to try the Lao Lao which is produced there. A lethal local brew, made from fermented sticky-rice. Also we got to see the famous Russian Tank. An empty shell that had been stripped down of anything useful, sat rusting in a field.

As we traveled from site to site, village children ran from their houses to the side of the road, waving like mad at us. Like a day trip from a lunatic asylum, we waved back with just as much enthusiasm.

That night we all met up for dinner again. It had been good to hook up with a group of people for a day or two. Especially when they were all interesting people to spend time with and chat to.