Hilsen fra Norge

05.07.2004

Hilsen fra Norge!

After a rather underwhelming lunch of fish and chips in a Kilkenny pub last year, I decided to treat myself to a rather more interesting affair for my quarter-century attainment. I had originally fancied whisking off to the rambunctious metropolis of Rome, to see if both it and I had changed in the (almost) 7 years since I was last there. Rome had proven to be an endless source of vexation for me as I struggled to navigate my way around the cacophonic melange that is the eternal city of poco loco Vespa riders, warding off the incessant unsolicited advances of lecherous lotharios, whilst avoiding getting turned into minced-meat by the enslaught of perennial horn-honking obsessed Romans.

But it was never to be, as Ryan Air had sold out of their ridiculously low fares....but thanks to my move to bonny Scotland, I realised I had been afforded access to a plethora of cheap flights that were not previously available to me from Dublin.

So Norway it was to be.

Unfortunately only for a week - but bloody hell, that's all an impoverished, unemployed, sheila like me could ever hope to have afforded!

To give you some perspective on prices in Norway.....here's a rough guide...

Big Mac (not a meal) - €4.11/$AUD7.09
300ml Mocha - €3.75/$AUD6.50
500ml Coca-Cola - €4/$AUD6.70
Wrigleys 10 piece chewing gum - €1.20/$AUD2
1 litre unleaded petrol - €1.55/$AUD2.70
Dinner 2 people (no alcohol, basic Chinese) - €53/$AUD92
Laundry (one pair of smelly socks) - $AUD6.10 (I kid you not! oh and they weren't mine)
Taxi fare - 8km distance - €20/$AUD34.70
1 night hostel accomm - a bargain!! €17/£11.50/$AUD30

You get my drift hey?

As for some trivia on Norway:

*It is not an EU member but is party to various EEA arrangements which mean it has access to the European market, and is allowed to fish to its heart's content

*Norwegians are on average more aesthetically advantaged" than most nations of people - though I still think their Swedish neighbours are pipping them for the #1 title

*the Norwegian Vikings are responsible for settlements in places as far afield as Sicily, Greenland, Newfoundland (CA) and Dublin

*Two of its most famous sons were boath Roalds - Roald Dahl (who in addition to fathering the kooky model Sophie, wrote a few kiddies books on the side) and Roald Amundsen - the first man to reach the South Pole in 1911

*The average Norwegian eats 200 "polse" (hot dogs) a year

*Everyone in Norway is obsessed with gambling

*Lemmings in Norway do indeed go jumping over cliff-edges and plummet to their fate in the fjords below

*Norwegians drink a hell of a lot of alcohol, which is somewhat surprising considering the bizarre retail alcohol laws, as follows - In Norway, you can buy beer and nothing stronger, on weekdays only up until 8pm, and on Saturdays only until 6pm. After those times, or if you are in search of anything a little stronger, you must head to a Vinmonopolet. In what appears to be a borrowed concept from the former Soviet Union, you must first select your poison, take a number, queue for a long time, and then go to the counter where you will end up paying about 5 times what you would pay in any other country - Ireland included!

Anyway, back to my trip...

After a quick flight from Glasgow, I took another flight from Oslo, across Southern Norway's snow-mottled mountains that tumbled into turquoise hued fjords at their extremities, to arrive in Bergen , renowned not only as the gate-way to the Western fjords, but also for its absolutely deplorable weather (odds on heavy rain most days), to find an immaculate yacht-filled marina basking in glorious summer sunshine (good weather tends to follow me for some reason). Upon arrival I had a quick wander about the town before taking the Floibanen funicular up Mt Floyen ("The Vane") to be afforded a magnificient view down over Bergen and the surrounding fjordlands.

The next day I took the much-hyped, and a tad overpriced Norway in a Nutshell tour. It started with a 2 hour journey along the Bergen Railway line, before changing lines onto the 20km Flam Railway (an engineering masterpiece with 5 sets of brakes to prevent the train from sliding back down the mountainside) past spectacular waterfalls and mountain scenery, jumping on a 2 hour cruise through the Aurlandsfjord and Naeroyfjord (meaning of course "narrow fjord"), and then heading back across to Bergen. The cruise was splendid, and a source of great amusement as I was sitting amidst a large contingent of wealthy Japanese tourists, who in their Armani suits accessorized with Bally Shoes and Louis Vuitton Handbags (even the men!!), took great delight in reaching their hands up into the sky to feed the dive-bombing scavanging sea-gulls copious quantities of Pringles! (Of course with the soulful melodies of Grieg in the background, this made for quite a beautiful experience).

Back in Bergen the next day, I wound my way around the narrow cobble-stoned warrens that make up the present day city. Past the Bryggen, the gable-lined medieval waterfront village that was home to the Hanseatic merchants who traded beer and grain for fish; through the Torget's open-air fish market where the fishmongers show off their fresh daily catches of cod, herring, salmon and prawns; and up the passages of the Ovregaten - where a colourful mix of large 19th century villas curve up the hillside overlooking the city, providing a quiet respite from the bustle of the touristed centre below. I finished up the day with a quick visit to the Lepramuseet - a museum which is dedicated to the fight against leprosy in Norway - very strange indeed! According to the information provided at the museum, 3% of the population of Norway were classified as lepers at one point, and the Norwegian researcher, Hansen (leprosy is aka Hansen's disease) was responsible for identifying the leprosy bacillus. And in case you are really keen on learning about leprosy, the Norwegian word for hospital, derives from their word for leprosy - i.e. hospitals were places where lepers were housed; many for 30 or 40 years!

Stavanger was my next port of call to catch up with my old Saffa flatmate who is working there for a few months (as ya do!). Stavanger is essentially a port city founded on its oil industry, and is consequently home to a considerable number of wealthy ex-patriates with not too shabby yachts. It is surprisingly pleasant (for an oil city), and a little less tourist-swamped than Bergen. Still loads of Americans though - like everywhere else in Norway. Could it be all that oil perhaps?!?! Aside from watching the Rugby, we went on a hike up to Preikestolen ("the pulpit rock"), a large naturally formed 25 square metre plateau of rock which has sheer drops of 600m on three of its sides into the delightful Lysefjord below. It is thought that Preikestolen was given its name due to its possible significance as a sacrificial Viking site, but no-one really knows for sure. Pretty impressive drop down regardless.

A quick flight back East brought me to Oslo, purportedly the most sunny Scandinavian capital - a nice change from the eternal cloud/rain/wind/cold that has lingered in Edinburgh for the whole time I've been here! Upon arrival, I headed first to the Munch gallery...a most melancholic affair....his artworks typically portraying images of extremities of love, anxiety, death, anguish and despair. Here I saw his famous work "Skril" or "The scream" and all of its variations. After a quick wander through town, I wandered along King Johan's gate - the main pedestrian shopping area in downtown Oslo, before finishing the day with a little statue gazing at the wonderful Vigelandsparken, an open-aired statue park created as a means of celebrating the human form - an obelisk comprised of an entanglement of human figures is its centrepiece. The park is a favourite afternoon relaxation spot for locals and tourists alike - for a game of frisbee or football, sunbaking (yes, nude), roller-rapping, doggy walking etc.

I spent my final day in Oslo visiting the "must see" (hmmm but yeah kinda boring) VikingShip museum, detailing the history of Vikings from the Nordic countries and displaying the frames of the oldest Viking ships in the world. From here, a quick trip to the exceedingly more interesting Folksmuseum, before catching a ferry back across the harbour to the Aker Brygge, the former shipyard now home to loads of nice cafes and shops, going for a stroll through the Royal Palace gardens, and finally catching the train up to the Holmenkollen ski jump and its attached, interesting ski history museum. This ski jump is 110m long, and plays host to an annual ski jumping comp - considered a national holiday by most Norwegians, including the Royal Family who bag the best seats every year.

And now back in Edinburgh, doing temp secretarial work for absolutely horrendous pay - not bad work though. Eds is an absolutely grandiose city, though the weather is a national disgrace! Even the Scots are appalled by it. Apparently the temperature at the moment is 17 - let's just remember that this is Summer though - CRAZY!!

Anyway, greetz to all, hope all is well wherever you may be - Sydney, Melbourne, Tassie, Tassie (well there are two parts to each of you!), Eire, England etc etc........

Write back and let me know what you're all up to.

Cheers

Love Belinda

Da Last Tree Monts

18.06.2004

'T'as been a disgracefully long time since my last update, so this will be yet another hideously long spiel from B as she attempts to cover a little of the past few months...

So....after a wonderfully long soujourn in Oz and SE-Asia, I arrived back in Ireland mid-March to a city revved up for St Patrick's Day - the centre of Dublin was absolutely mad....never before have I seen so many viking hats, green t-shirts, and wannabe leprechauns in my life! Nor have I ever seen so many ludicrously langered (heavily inebriated) teenagers before 10 in the morning, staggering about the town, engaging in reverse-peristaltis while their good mates tried to prevent them from passing out into/falling asleep in the deposits they left behind.....And goodness gracious me, if you ever need a fix of American marching bands (gotta love a bit of baton-twirling once in a while), St Patrick's Day in Dublin, is the place to be. Nah, Paddy's was great craic, a little on the hectic side, but a whole lot of fun and a great experience.

Who exactly was St Patrick anyway.... I was a tad disappointed to hear that my childhood visions of a holy most-excellently bearded bloke, wielding a wooden staff to ward off the snakes, was a little off the mark. Turned out that St Paddy arrived in Ireland in AD432. He was apparently born in Scotland (though the Welsh, of course, dispute this claim), and arrived in Ireland after being kidnapped by Irish pirates (Arrrr!). He became a slave and was resigned to a life of tending sheep. He then became a Christian, returned to Blighty for a stint, and then hoofed on back to Ireland, after a prophetic vision instructed him to convert everyone in Ireland to Christianity....

*****************************************************************************

Now skipping forward a few weeks to the Easter long weekend (a good opportunity to avoid the weekendly influx of hen/stag nights from La Terre de Pomme!!)...so my buddy Dean (yet another deserter from the Dublin fold) and I decided to head off to the West. So off it was to Killarney town, the base for exploration of the Iveragh Peninsula (i.e. the Ring of Kerry). Upon arrival in Killarney, we went in search of some tucker....only to find that the only thing we could get anywhere was fish!!! Apparently it's a Good Friday thing.....no beef, chicken, turkey, pork etc.....just fish!!!!! Very strange indeed. And would you believe that all the pubs were closed! Wow......really crazy. After a good feast on very boney fish, we hired some bikes (a slight improvement on the dodgy gearless Chinese bicycles I was cruising round rice paddies on in Laos) and headed for the nearby Killarney National Park. The park is a vast, resplendent, glacially carved out area, with large lakes, monastic sites, the impressive Ross Castle (the last in Munster to fall to Oliver Cromwell's army), ginormous trees covered in lichen, and mad-cyclists hooning around on their ten-speeders. There are also magnificient views of Ireland's highest mountain range - the Macgillycuddy's Reeks - of course we would have climbed up them all, if not for the dire dire weather.

The next day was spent on a bus tour (cringe!!) around the Iveragh Peninsula (aka the Ring of Kerry). Our bus driver, lets call him Seamus (as I can't recall his name), was as mad as a tellytubby overdosed on RedBull, and his driving reflected this. To be fair, the roads around the Ring of Kerry are rather hammered from the frequent flow of tour-buses all day long plying the road, but when you're whizzing around a hair-pin curve at 100miles/hr on a pock-marked, narrow road, one must question the sanity of the driver. The Ring of Kerry was all that one would expect though - beautiful, green, rainy and loaded with sheep and Kerry cows. From the ROK, I bussed up to delightful Dingle peninsula where I cycled out to the most Westerly point in Ireland all around the western part of Dingle - full of yellow flowers, bleeting mad sheep, hair-pin curves, and cottages set in the midst of limestone fenced green fields.

******************************************************************************

Another couple weeks passed.....same old same....( work, shopping, eating out, rock-climbing, movies, etc....) before yet another bank holiday weekend in May, where four of us chicks (3 Aussies and Pommie!) headed down to The People's Republic of Cork! Cork is the biggest county in Ireland, and home to lots of pretty green (and sometimes rocky) wide-open spaces, sheep, locals withsome of the most lovely lilting accents in the world (though at times ya need to listen really hard to understand them hey) and tourists who fancy themselves as being exceedingly eloquent after having kissed the Blarney stone! Funnily enough, there doesn't seem to be any cork anywhere in sight! We were in Cork during the accession of 10 countries (namely Cyprus, Malta, Slovenia, Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania) to the EU, so were lucky to miss the madness going on back in Dublin's fair city (anti-globalisation protests run by groups such as the funnily named/dressed Wombles of Wimbledon). Whilst in Cork, we caught a cab out to see Blarney Castle. The Blarney stone is a chip of the Scottish stone of Scone that was presented to the King of Munster in thanks for his support during a 14th century rebellion. Apparently the hygiene of the stone is questionable (all the locals will tell you this), so my attempt at bending over (held by the ankles and dangling down a little gap) was a little half-hearted. We also meandered round the University College of Cork grounds, drove out to Cobh (pronounced "Cove", the last port of call for the Titanic before it sunk), and cruised around West Cork for the day. According to my guidebook, West Cork was once the "badlands" of Ireland; its ruggedness and isolation rendered it lawless and largely uninhabitible. It's now home to loads of farms, holiday cottages and lovely beaches. It's very pretty and a nice (mostly) chilled out place to spend a few days.

On my second last weekend in Ireland (another bank holiday weekend, you see the bankers work really hard in Ireland so they need loads of holidays), I finally made it across to the splendid Aran Islands, off the west coast of Ireland, with my long-time dear friend, Katherine, yet another antipodean who has relocated to the Northern Hemisphere. We stopped overnight in Galway, "the fastest growing city in Europe" (apparently!), where we visited The Crane (a good trad pub), and got romanced by the 82 year old Sean, the most famous locksmith in town, and a man who fancies himself as quite the Tangoist, when he's not doing a little Samba on the side. From here we caught a ferry out to Inish more, the largest and most heavily populated of the Aran Islands (a grand total of 700 people live here, and about 50,000 sheep!) and spent the day cycling all around the place. The Aran islands were absolutely delightful, full of green fields, sheer limestone cliff faces tumbling into the rough Atlantic below, ancient forts, monastic sites where early Irish Christians settled to attain spiritual seclusion, old fellas giving tourists rides around the island in wagons towed by ponies, quaint little cottages, and a few quite nice beaches.

And then finally my last weekend in Dublin.....not too shabby, though exhausting! After starting to pack up my gear last week, I realized that I had accumulated a disgraceful amount of gear.....so much so that I had to leave 2 big bag fulls of gear in Dublin, and still pay an excess on my luggage allowance...grrrr. Went to the RHCP/T(h)rills/Pixies concert on the Sat night with everyone else in the country........a little hectic being sandwiched in with 100,000 other people but good fun nonetheless.

For now I've moved on to the wonderfully grand city of Edinburgh. Who knows how long I'll be here. At the moment I'm looking for a new job, not to mention a home. I'm also heading off to Norway in 4 days for a quick holiday. Apparently Norway is more expensive than Ireland - could this possibly be so?!?!?!

To finish up, I'd like to say thanks to all who were part of my Dublin experience - I miss you guys!!! Especially thanks to Dean, Ken, Jo, Julie, Regina, and the rest of the Abbey gang, the Saffas, and of course all you chicks from the South Western Area Health Board! 'T'as been grand sharing the experience with you all...I'll be back soon enough I'm sure.

Anyway, must finish up, the chick at the library is evil-eyeing me, which means I have to get off the free internet service.....Hope this email finds all of you happy and well. Again, sorry for the disgraceful lag between emails.....ah well. Let me know if any of you are going to be up/over this way soon. Would be delighted to put any (? ok so most) of you up for a few nights....when I get a place that is!

Slainte

Love Belinda xox

Krabi Krabi Krabi! Oi oi Oi!

14.03.2004 33 °C

G'day blokes, sheilas and aspiring lady-boys!

After arriving back at the parched, dustbowl that is Pakse (I've already written a proposal to the Lao Tourist Bureau recommending this dump be renamed Poxy), from the relative calm of the Four Thousand Islands, I remedied my thoroughly exhausted self with some fine coffee from the Bolavens Plateau in the air-conditioned comfort of a bamboo-chaired, palm fanned Polynesian style haven, before kicking back at my hotel to finely dine on (not-another-jolly-bowl-of-) flied-lice and having the pleasure to snoop on a Lao wedding reception.....a seemingly most excellent excuse for copious amounts of Lao Lao (Lao rice whiskey) consumption, very bad get-down-and-boogying-post-inebriation, hideous taffeta frills, an Elvis style winter-white bell-bottomed clad groom, and the cacophonic (of course this is subjective) melange that is Lao-reggae music. Absolutely brilliant craic.

My slumber that night came in hiccups thanks to the constant rhythms of the Lao-reggae-after-wedding discotheque from the hellmouth below, and when I finally dragged my woeful self out of bed the next morning, I was running hideously late for my bus to the Bolavens plateau. Upon arrival at the morning market for my local super-comfortable bus eastwards, with the remnant pulse of the Lao-reggae pounding in my head, my physical incapacitation due to the seering heat, and my respiratory resources on the verge of expiry from inhalation of red dirt, tuk tuk fumes, and malodorous Mekong fish, I decided that I rather fancied laying about on a tropical island for a few days.

Of course, this decision afforded me the opportunitiy to learn that you can actually squeeze 30 adults (and 2 children, as well as half a dozen baby peach-faces, and a mangily coiffured poodle), into the back of a 16-seater tuk tuk! At a roasting 37C, for an hour or so on a heavily pocked road, this made for an exceedingly character-building ride, particularly with my being sandwiched between Mr Elbows, and a girl nursing very manky looking baby-birds that sucked on fermented lady-finger bananas, in between writhing and squawking in protest. I also did well to befriend a young Lao man carrying a little excess adipose tissue, who managed to clench my heart after a mere 11km with a touch of old-fashioned enthusiasm, dodgy Aussie-style pick-up lines, his suave slick-backed mullet (all the rage with middle-aged German backpackers!) and a token can of imitation Lao Coca-Cola. My email box has since been inundated with sweet sweet nothings! Bless...

After your average encounter with jaded immigration officials, I re-entered Thailand, where I took another (somewhat less crowded) tuk tuk, followed by a non air-con bus, o'nite train, taxi , air-con bus, boat and tuk tuk, to get to Lonely Beach on Ko Chang, an island on the far east coast of Thailand, near to the Cambodian border. 28hrs all up, including a brief layover on a rather ghosttown-like 6am Khao San Rd - the only signs of life, aside from the saffron-frocked monks on their daily alms-rounds, and the obnoxious tuk tuk drivers touting their girlfriend's half-brother's ex-wife's tailor shop ("velly cheap for you my fliend. I give you special price my fliend"), were of a few somnambulistic farangs, not quite sure where they were, nor why - but still pondering how the heck they made it that far!

I scoured all the travel agencies in Banglamphu (backpacker central) to find one that was open before the 8am bus left, and after finding one at 7.55am, boarded a bus out to Ko Chang, a quite rugged island with thick jungle right across it. Ko Chang provided a perfect chill out place for reading, sleeping and relaxing at the beach, but after 3 days, it got a little boring, so I bussed on back to Bangers, did some 'window' shopping, and booked a flight down south to Krabi!

From Ao Nang town, I jumped on a long-tail boat out to Railay, a beautiful area on the coast that is full of bungalows, al fresco cafes (you can even eat on the mudflats at low tide), climbing schools, monkeys, ridiculously bronzed Swedes using UV rays to cure remnants of Seasonal Affective Disorder, and a colony of stumpy-tailed cats that like to sit on people's laps while they dine.

Upon arrival, I promptly headed over to West Railay for a swim and snooze. All afternoon, there was an incessant flow of smiling (but very annoying) beach vendors, trying their hardest to sell pineapples, coconut milk, pastries, sarongs, bracelets etc. Thankfully they weren't as aggressive as the ones in Vietnam, (e.g. the toothless old wench in Hoi An who decided my sarong was a good place to set up shop for half an hour or so), and no tears were induced by my attempts to ward them off (not mentioning any names you big bully!) .

From there, I wound my way around the heavily-fenced off Rayavadee resort (cheapest rooms go for AUD$450 a night in the off-season, most expensive are AUD$4500 - apparently Colin Farrell stayed there last week) to sit down on the spectacular Hat Tham Phra Nang (Princess Cave Beach) and share the view of the sun sinking into the ocean with a stack of monkeys that swing madly from the treetops right on the beach.

After a few rather lax days on the physical front, I decided some exercise was in order, so went to Cliffs Man, one of the major climbing schools in Thailand and hired Tik to teach me to do spiderwoman impressions up 30m high cliff faces overlooking some of the most gobsmackingly beautiful beaches on earth.

Apparently the cliffs around Railay are amongst the top five climbing sites in the world - not only for the challenges they offer in clambering your way up overhangs and stalactites, but for the magnificent views you are afforded over the Andaman coast when you get up high. If you happen to be the first person in the world to scout out and scale a new path up a cliff-face, you are given the opportunity to name the cliff - consequently, if you so wish, you could attempt to climb "Knights in White Satin", "Ladyboy" and "Greed". My instructor was absolutely brilliant in his relentless pursuit of his student's climbing potential. He wouldn't let me get away with giving up when I was a metre or two from the top - even if my arms and legs were on the verge of dropping off from utter exhaustion! By the end of the second day, those imaginary bumps on the wall Tik insisted I put my feet on and clasp with my fingers had become real and valuable foot perches and finger grips.......I suspect this rock-climbing business could be very addictive....

My final night in Thailand was spent at Cliffs Bar, with some friends I´d made at climbing school, on the backpacker strip of East Railay, watching the climbing instructors clamber like monkeys up the outdoor training wall, inebriated Swedish lads making monkeys out of themsleves trying to do the same, young Thai men doing tricks with flaming sticks/ropes (beats flaming galahs!), and laughing at a very bad Michael Jackson impersonator trying to do magic.

Now it's back to Dublin, ready to gear up for St Paddy's Day this Wednesday. I'm just after arriving off the plane (getting back into the Irish grammar!), and ready to keel over at any second from sheer exhaustion, but am trying to make it through til this evening's fireworks.

Oh yeah and I have to work on Monday!

Cheers

Belinda

xox

How many people can you fit into a pick-up truck?

01.03.2004 38 °C

Greetings (finally I’m back online!)

So I last wrote from Pakse, the provincial capital of Champasak province, and over 700km South of Vientiane. Flying low over the Southern provinces of Laos, I was shocked by the tremendous devastation of Laos’ deforestation. Vast areas of once-forested lands, lay naked and brown beneath me, and the constant haze of dust lingered in the air. About 2/3 of Laos’ export earnings are from logging, and on top of that, there is a large amount of forest area disappearing as a result of illegal loggers from within Lao and nearby Thailand (Thai border is about 40k away).

Upon arrival here, I went in search of (food and then) the allusive Mr Theung (no doubt, one of many), who, I was informed, would be able to provide me with the most up-to-date information on getting down to Si Phan Done (Four Thousand Islands) by slow boat. All I knew was that he owned a coffee shop, near the bridge closest to the port (which isn’t really a port, but more of a spot where a few boats huddle together at the foot of a riverside! See none of the streets in Pakse actually have names! Or if they do, they are numerical, but the numbers don’t make much sense, and nobody seems to know what they are! Of course speaking no Lao, was not much help…. So I never did end up finding Mr Thueng, but I did have a rather dull afternoon in Pakse town, where the most exciting event of the day was the bitumizing of the ‘main’ road – an occasion for every long-fingernailed man to watch in delight (only prosperous men can have long-fingernails ‘cause they don’t have to work in the fields!).

Anyway, I decided to take a bus, and the next morning, I hailed a tuk-tuk to take me to the bus station (which turned out to be a market) where I was befriended by a Lao woman who had just returned to Laos, after 25 years living in Paris (of course!). She asked me where I was heading, and invited me to share the tuk-tuk with her family to head down to Champasak. After grabbing some breakfast (a long crusty baguette plastered with margarine and copious amounts of brown sugar!!!!!!), I jumped aboard for the ride down to Champasak, with my new friend, and her companions. Whilst my friend and I chatted away happily in French (or rather, she chatted away, and I occasionally was able to extract a few phrases/words from my left hemisphere in order to reply), her mother munched on a half-formed baby bird egg, and her sister sucked away on a wad of betel nut (which acts as a stimulant and does a great job in discolouring one’s teeth!). After dropping off her family in Champasak town, she continued with me to Wat Phou, where she provided me with a rather detailed description of the Wat and its significance to Lao people (again all in French!). Wat Phou is an Angkorian temple (slightly older than Angkor Wat) set aside a hill (Phou is Lao for mountain), and purported to look like a Linga (Hindu phallus). The main stairway up the Wat is lined with frangipanis and the view from the top was superb.

Wat Phou Champasak

Whilst looking around the Wat, I befriended a German couple, who had booked a private tour on the internet and had their own mini-van to take them wherever they wanted to go. They offered me a ride down to Don Khong, one of the 4000 islands, and I arrived there quickly and comfortably – and without the help of Mr Theung!

I couldn’t quite afford the US$25/night comfort of my German friends’ somewhat palatial hotel, so opted for the $3/night Mekong Guest House next door. A good choice, it turned out as the guesthouse was run by a lovely Lao/Canadian family who did everything possible to make me feel at home, including nursing me back to health when I came down rather ill (I think a touch of cholera) early the next morning. I told them to rename it the Mekong GuestHouse and Hospital! Can also highly recommend Semalong essential balm and Marley’s (no relation to Bob) egg noodle soup as a remedy for reverse-peristalsis….

Aside from spending time being cared for by my adopted Lao family, I explored Don Khong island, mostly on one of those ricketty gearless Chinese bikes I rode up North. At first I started out with the 16km roundtrip cycle to the other side of the island, before doing the 25km Southern loop, and then yesterday taking on the 40km (maybe a little less) Northern circuit with Becky (friend from Vientiane) and Stefan (a German)…..on a mountain bike in a temperate climate, that’s probably not such a ride, but in the 35degree heat on a dodgy bicycle, it’s hard work!!

The scenery across Don (Lao for island) Khong is both charming and varied, with iridescent green rice paddies (presumably the folk with a bit of money for high-tech Lao irrigation systems) juxtaposed with dried-up straw coloured ones; water-buffalo mulling in the fields, taking a dip in the trenches that line the roadside, or wandering down the roads, clinking their cow-bells as they go; children playing in their front yards, smiling brightly as they gleefully wave to the ‘falangs’ or running out onto the road-side to high-five falangs passing by. Most of the houses are made from bamboo and coconut palm wood, and many contain television and/or stereo systems that could compete with any high-tech 80s model system. On Khong, there are also animals all over the place, including some of the most robust looking chooks and ducks I’ve ever seen, loads of birds, 100kg pigs, and plenty of skanky (“but always beautiful”) cats and dogs.

Scenes from Don Khong

From Don Khong I took a daytrip to the islands of Don Deth/Don Khone, close to the Cambodian border, where I got to see the spectacular Khone Phapheng waterfalls (claimed to be the ‘widest’ in the world hmmmm), the not-so-spectaular-but-still-quite-nice Li Phi waterfall, the old French railway line and carriage (the French had grand plans to build a railway line that connected Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos with Thailand, and a school of the extremely endangered and rare Irawaddy Dolphins. Aside from the extraordinary opportunity we had to see these rare freshwater dolphins in relatively close proximity, the trip provided us with the chance to cross out of Laos, into Lao-Cambodian no-man’s-land, into Cambodia and back again, without officially dealing with immigration – therefore paying no visa-cost, nor any entry/exit/re-entry bribe to corrupt officials!

There was once a train planned to run across Indochina...it never actually happend...

Mother Marley (from my guesthouse) was kind enough to organize a ride for Stefan (German friend) and I back North, in what she believed to be the most comfortable mini-bus transport available! She guaranteed us a comfy ride at the local price!! So at 6.30 (Lao time – i.e. anytime after 6.30am but never exactly at 6.30am) we were surprised to be met by an over-crowded covered pick-up truck – think 27 people in the back (rather battery-chicken-like)!! A rather uncomfortable ride of about 3.5 hrs duration, but certainly character building. What was not so character-building, however, was sitting right next to the truck conductor (a charming man with bad body odour and no teeth) and his fat friend Freddy, who took glee in ogling the falang backpacker, who was ever grateful she had decided to go for the neck-ankle-five-sizes-too-big-ensemble………

Anyway, not much else to say. I THINK I’m heading east to the Bolavens plateau tomorrow (it’s possible I end up in Yangon or Krabi!), but for now, some sleep would be nice!

See yas later

Love Belinda

xxoo

Fancy Some Spicy Sour Virgin Pork Uterus?

Just what everyone driving along Route 13 wants -
a bullet hole in the window!

24.02.2004 34 °C

After four lovely days in beautiful Luang Prabang, I caught a¨bus down to the small town of Vang Vieng, which is nestled in the midst of craggy limestone hills, and next to the Nom Xong River. Vang Vieng is the main backpacker ghetto in Laos, full of Israelis, and happy food, and cafes which show Leonardo di Caprio films, in between showing the entire Friends series! According to the Aussie Dept. of Foreign Affairs and Trade (which provide an endless source of scary warnings to travellers), you should only take Route 13, the main 'highway' between LP (i.e. the abbreve formerly known as Lonely Planet) and Vientiane, if you absolutely must, as parts of the route have, in the past, been riddled with the odd pack of guerillas wielding the occasionally frightening weapon. But all is grand now....in fact I think the hairily winding roads (let alone the oncoming traffic - think cows, pick-up trucks and people), proved more of a risk than anything else! That aside, the scenery was marvellous, and though long, the journey was splendid.

Upon arrival at Vang Vieng (think James Bond "The man with the Golden Gun" scenery on the riverside), I took a tuk-tuk a little way upstream, and leisurely floated back down river to Vang Vieng town in an inner tube. Lazy, peaceful, and beautiful... until I roused from my semi-slumber and gazed over at a herd of water buffalo, bathing in the river, 3-4metres away!! And of course yer Pommie lad on the banks of the river, decides that this is a good time to remind me that water buffaloes are the biggest killers in SE-Asia! Excellent moment though. As I attempted to hasten my paddle downstream, one of the larger ones slowly turned his head around, looked me square in the eyes, and submerged himself under the water..... well thankfully he didn't, but it would have been something good to write home about hey? After arriving back in town, and wandering through the chaotic markets, I went and perched myself beside the river to watch the sun set over the smokey hills, along with the rest of the 'falang' population in town.

The next morning, I cycled across some ricketty bamboo bridges to check out some of the caves surrounding the town (B's tip for the day - don't hire dodgy gearless Chinese bicycles to ride along dirt roads and through rice paddies, no matter how cheap cheap they are!), before taking a bus down to the capital, Vientiane.

Vientiane, is quite the mellowed down SE Asian capital, with a relatively small population (200,000), and no problems for a pedestrian who wishes to cross the road without being annihilated by motos! I hired a bicycle (of course it was a dodgy gearless Chinese bicycle - but VTE is flat so no worries), to ride out to That Luang, the most holy Buddhist monument in Laos - it is purported to have at one stage, contained the breastbone of Buddha, though it's since disappeared.

Essentially That Luang is a gilded stupa surrounded by a square cloister, where the monks hang out. It is flanked by two wats, which appeared to be gearing up for some sort of festivity. They were both filled with families (and their dogs!), sitting on straw mats, dining on sticky rice, and enjoying the craic of each other's company. The wats were adorned with gilded plastic bodhi trees, chains of fake money, loads of flowers, and the occasional popcorn necklace!

From here I rode to look at the Revolutionary Monument, and zipped down Vientiane's answer to the Champs Elysees, to venture up the Monument Anousavari (an Oriental-style Arc de Triomphe). Then on to the banks of the (quite-dried-up) Mekong, where you can sit and look over the sandbars to Thailand - sitting at picnic-set tables adorned with fresh-roses and a roll of toilet paper (makeshift serviettes). The sandbars are full of activity with teenagers kicking around a soccer/football, kids flying kites and remote-controlled aeroplanes, and young couples taking a romantic sunset stroll.

Sometime after 5pm each day, you can also kick back and watch Lao ballroom dancing and Aerobics Lao-Style, under an open-air garage.....it's mostly young health-conscious females that come along for the sessions, but you also get the odd (both rare and funny) ex-pat joining in, and a tubby old fellow who completely lacks co-ordination (think Forrest Gump on speed), but provides plenty of enthusiastic entertainment for the 'falang' audience. Yesterday, I caught him doing a little ballroom dancing with an equally enthusiastic chick in a SWAT-team shirt....bizarre. And of course all the music is old Western music (I will follow you, to wherever you may go, there isn't a river too deep....etc etc...).

The next day, we (Bec from LP, Becky [a Canuck] and I), hired motorbikes and road east past the Thai-Laos Friendship Bridge (built with aid of Australian government - Paul Keating is consequently very popular in Laos) to Xieng Khuan, the Garden of the Buddhas. It's a quite bizarre outdoor sculpture garden, full of Buddhist and Hindu sculptuers of Vishnu, Shiva, Buddha and the occasional Brahma. Here, I met a whole stack of locals, who wanted me to pose with them, their children, and parents for family photos - perhaps the whole blonde falang eccentricity! Trippy.......but it was good fun, and provided a lot of laughs.

Xieng Khuan

Me and my Lao family

Some of my adopted family invited us over to join them for a picnic of sticky rice, papaya salad and Beer Lao.......papaya salad is typically on the spicy side, though this particular one was on the anyone-fancy-burning-out-their-mouth-with-pure-acid, side of things.....think tears streaming from eyes, runny nose, beetroot-coloured cheeks.....and of course the sticky rice, had been cooked with some unidentifiable meat (maybe pig's intestines), which gave it a most dubious flavour.....mmmmm mmmmmm.

I spent yesterday visiting the morning and evening markets (clothes, produce, cosmetics, watches, sunnies, lacquerware, and plenty of kitsch), Wat Sisaket (which has a shrill echo of bats in its rooves), Wat Phra Kaeo (temple of the emerald buddha - abducted by the Thais a couple hundred years ago), and the national museum, which tells much of the wicked imperialist impact on Laos (during the war in Vietnam, the US had attempted to block off the flow of weaponry down the corridor of Eastern Laos by the North Vietnamese(?) - and hoped to achieve this by dropping a couple of bombs on what is known as the Ho Chi Minh trail - when I say a couple, think 2million+, or the equivalent of "a plane load of bombs every 8 minutes around the clock for 9 years" according to LP).

And finally, this morning I braved This morning I braved Lao Aviation to take a flight down south to Pakse, a large (by Laos standards) town at the junction of the Mekong and Xe Don rivers.

Upon arrival at Pakse International Airport, I bummed a ride into town with some Aussies who used to live in Laos, before scouring the town for a guesthouse. For the first time I was referred to as a "Backpasher", a nice change on the "Falang", "Honey honey", "Sweetie", "Miss" deal....

From here it's off to Si Phan Don (the Four Thousand Islands), for a couple days. I'm offline for a few days now as no electricity down south.

Gotta head off - found a restaurant that serves "spicy sour virgin pork uterus"...miam miam!!

Take care all

Ciao

Belinda
xox