Smiling faces, sun, and Red Bull buckets… let the good times begin.
Thailand & Laos
Our month in India proved to have many ups and downs, so the Frogs were a little sceptical about continuing the Asian adventure for a further 8 weeks. However we assured them good food and vodka Redbull buckets would soon cheer them up.
A late night flight from Chennai turned into a zero sleep nightmare as a little Indian kid screamed like both his arms had been cut off (we wish we could have), and arrived in Singapore airport early morning having to wait all day for a night flight to Bangkok. So when we finally arrived at the backpacker mecca of Khao san road, we should have rightly found a hostel and gone to bed. But as we often found out throughout the Asian leg, a mix of cheap whisky, Red Bull concentrate and Coca-Cola really gets your night going despite how tired you think you are. Some boogying followed, and at the end of it all in the early hours Mark was trying to sleep on the pavement and needed a tuk tuk for the 100m trip home, while Antoine disappeared ‘hunting’. An apt introduction to the parties and good times of Southeast Asia.
The next day feeling decidedly dodgy, we were offered to dine in an Indian restaurant, which almost made us puke again. In comparison to India, this just seemed easy and fun. Benji was taken aback when asking where to get a new Keyboard for his computer from a shop keeper. In India the guy could be selling goats, but still say he sells official sony Vaio keyboards and spend the rest of the day showing you carpets saying the keyboard is coming. In Bangkok- Benji was told the cheapest place in town, the cheapest bus to take, and best of all he didn’t owe anyone for this advice! Things were getting easier!
Bangkok is a great city but its sheer size, traffic and pollution can quickly become overwhelming, so we caught an overnight ‘sleeper’ bus north to Chaing Mai, Thailand’s second largest city.
There was a hint of a rip-off when instead of getting off the bus in Chaing Mai centre, we were delivered to the door of a guest house and offered breakfast. A quick precision practiced sales speech with maps was delivered explaining just why this guesthouse hosted the best hill trek in all of Thailand, and maybe it was the lack of sleep, but a group of 8 including us looked around and decided it might be an ok idea.
That night we headed out sans frogs (sorry froggies) to get to know our trekking buddies. Communication had been tested with the froggies, so getting on with northern Irish, Scouser and Australian accents was a piece of cake. A spicy Penang curry and a few Beer Changs later we found ourselves in a circle of bars surrounding a Muay Thai boxing ring with two midgets going at it. And for free! Awesome. A thoroughly enjoyable night was passed getting to know our new group over more than one bottle of cheap whiskey. Half the team mistakenly said our waitress was a ladyboy, which she overheard, so poor old Irish had to talk her round for the rest of the night. He even bought a couple of roses for her from some little kids who should have been in bed, but unfortunately he attracted the wrong kind of attention as a Thai lady in her mid 30’s crossed and uncrossed her legs Sharon Stone-esqe to attract Irish’s ‘Business’. Meanwhile we also found out and demonstrated each person’s tactic of not falling into the Thai squatter toilets . Once we had spent most of our money oe roses and whiskey, the Muay Thai boxers came around the bars asking for money, and although the height of Benji in 5th form, they were as wide as Mark today. We threw whatever change we had at them to make them go away disgruntled that their rib braking kicks were worth only a few cents. The night ended with a tactical spew by the littlest of the group out of a moving TukTuk who tried to cover it up, however a massive stain on his shirt shoulder soon indicated it was bed time.
All looking like death and considering it as a better alternative to the hangovers, we were bundled into the back of a ute ‘songtao’ and transported an hour and a half north towards Pai. On arrival in a fairly remote village, a lady of about 45 dressed in the brightly coloured traditional clothing started to serve up a mixed rice for lunch. We showed each other the TV satellite hanging off her rustic wooden house, and asked whether she was part of the original hill tribes. Yes was the answer, and after having been told we’d be meeting hill tribe people, she was the first and last one we truly saw. ..
Our guide for the trek was a young thai guy of about 28 who asked us to call him Beckham, like David Beckham, and we never ever found out his real name. He came out with crackers such as “I need to go Ko Pipi” (Ko Pipi is an Island in South Thailand), “Oh my bhudda!” and got people’s attention by yelling “hey- ladyboy!” This didn’t go down well with the froggies so when he told a story about the Thai hilltribe people Max had already heard about an African tribe, this confirmed its fate as NOT the best hill trek in Thailand.
The story goes that a doctor came to the remote hill tribe villages in the area to advise them about birth control and condoms. He gave them a load of condoms and demonstrated how to use them. A few months later he came back to find half the village pregnant (more than that would have really been trying) and wondered why. He’d explained putting on a condom by placing it over his thumb, and that’s exactly how they showed him how they were using them.
The trek continued through some stunning scenery- steep sun drenched hills of thick tropical bush, or orderly rice fields carved into the hillside with workers bent over in the field. This was what we were after. None of us were completely sure where he came from, but a quiet Burmese guy with a massive knife turned up as a ‘guide’, and we were told he’d walked over from the Burmese border which is fairly illegal. The walk all had us inspired but completely wrecked as the night before’s whisky was pumped out. We arrived on top of a hill dotted with a few basic wooden shacks- tonight’s campsite. As dark set in Benji ventured into the bush to relieve himself wondering whether he’d ever come back if the Burmese guerrilla ‘guide’ snuck out from behind a leaf.
After dinner Beckham pulled out his guitar and around a fire we started to quickly realise we were all crap singers and Beckham only knew half of all of the songs. So to get the drinking started Beckham introduced one of those awful games where you have to clap in time with everyone else, point at someone, call their name, and balance a cockatoo on your head- basically one of those ones where getting drunk is the only real aim. If we messed up Beckham would rub his fingers in some of the ash left in the fire and smudge our facers like a miner. All now looking like a Burmese SAS unit hiding in the hills, a new game was invented- we all had to sing a song from our own country. The Froggies launched with their Gallic pride and La Marseillaise (French national anthem), along with a song from Renaud (not the car manufacturer- but same pronunciation.) The Kiwis backed it up with a haka, Old Irish with a fantastic rendition of ‘Whisky in the Jar’, the Poms with ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis which everyone could get involved, and the Aussies??? Well they can’t spell beer (XXXX) and can’t sing Waltzing Mathilda. (Oh that’s what those big screens are for in the rugby – the words!!) Lucky we were all drunk and tired and let them slide. Anyway, Beckham had moved on to teaching us some drunken Muay Thai boxing. The Burmese ‘guide’ was absent, we figure for knife training.
We never saw ‘Mr K’ the Burmese guerrilla (seriously, that was his name, like a codename) the next day. He must have snuck out at night to skin elephants and move opium. Elephants were the theme of the morning, and with a seat for two but three people per Elephant, one had to sit on the poor things head. We left that up to the heaviest of the group, Mark, to sit on Dumbo’s head with his knees behind his ears. (Marks knees, Elephants ears… got it?) These things just walk through anything, slippery banks, rock filled streams, and not once did they slip. We were lucky to be riding the mother who had a very cute baby elephant trundling along beside. Despite the high of riding through dense jungle and streams on an elephant, the rocking motion and back breaking wooden seat took a toll on our bony bums, and we were quite relieved when we were set back on a bank by Mrs Elephant.
The final challenge as part of our Thai hill trek was bamboo rafting. Mark and I had already drifted down a Thai river on a bamboo raft, but on first impressions this river was fairly fast moving. A lot too fast for a group of hung-over clowns like us. When we say bamboo rafts its quite literal. 8 poles of bamboo, held together by bamboo binding, with bamboo poles to help punt and stair the rafts. Mark and I were with Scouser and got off to an early lead. Trying to stop or control these things in the fast moving water was actually a bit of a challenge so there were a few crashes, a bit of banter when we ran the frogs into a bank, and we were soon soaked through. Beckham our guide continued his strange behaviour as when the raft he was on with Birmingham and team Aussie started to fall apart- he just untied all of the bindings so the raft split into eight different pieces and everyone had to cling to a pole while floating down about 50% of the river. With some raft invasions, we were soon all soaked and in fits of laughter (except froggies- apparently there was still something to ‘win’) and were giggling like school children as we dove for the bank to try and get off. And what a welcome! Clambering up the bank we were met by locals who had just…… killed and were now chopping up an entire cow. Wow. Despite more blood than Kill Bill, and Scouser even picking up the head, we ate beef later that day. It turns out beef is just yummy.
Our Thai Hill Trek was full of good times and hilarity and we had an amazing group of people. However this started a worrying trend for us in South-East Asia The end product was miles less than what was promised.
The next day we headed out for a Thai massage to get over our sore trekking muscles….
With such a great group, it was decided we’d all tackle Laos together. So with a special deal cooked up by our guest house to get us to Luang Prabang in Laos, we were to leave that night and arrive two days later on a boat. We know we’ve bitched, moaned, and spat the dummy about horror bus trips during our travels, but this one will hopefully never be beaten. We promise. Ok, get this: Promised a comfy minivan all to ourselves, we did about half an hour in our minivan with plenty of room, before we were piled into another one already full. We then did 9pm-2am trying to fall asleep upright and with bags on our feet. No problems. We’re good at this. Put into a hostel till 6am, we were woken for breakfast and a rush to the border across the Mekong river for our visas. Dazed and confused from very little sleep, we found ourselves in Laos waiting for our 2 day slow boat in a travel agency. It was slow in even arriving as we waited 3 hours. It was now 10:30am. In one of those ‘but wait- there’s more!’ steak knife offers, the guy running the tour agency told us the boat was really full and we’d be uncomfortable for 2 days straight with no room. However out of the goodness of his heart he was going to put on a bus; VIP, Air-conditioned, straight to Luang Prabang that was going to take 9 hours instead. We’d be there by dinner.
‘Wow- that sounds way better’ we replied naively. Taken to the local bus station in a ute, our magical tour guide disappeared, and he is now on LeapFrog’s most wanted list. Bastard! Waiting, wondering what’s going on with Laotian locals, we noted the price of the bus ticket at the station was a third of what we paid for the boat. Damn. In the beating sun we were waiting until 2pm, still grumpy from lack of sleep, when a local bus turned up. Circa 1968, this looked like a retired Mexican bus, delivered overland, yesterday. We lumped our bags on the roof, knowing we couldn’t change anything and confident we were hardened bus travellers after India. We did the maths- 9hour trip meant arriving at 11pm. Not too bad we thought. Inside, the wooden seats didn’t even have enough leg room for Benji ‘short legs’ Hall. French Max’s legs were around his ears, which looked like he was doing a frog impression, which we found quite amusing. Windows open, roof fans coming on and off, we tried to get comfy and have a laugh. Every 20 mins or so, we’d stop in a tiny village and pick up bags of rice to put in the aisle between the seats. Mark resorted to lying on some of these bags just to get 3 seconds of sleep. Going was pretty slow on the potholed muddy roads, and a mix of a would-be Sebastian Loeb driver, soft suspension, and old tyres, the bus would lean and wallow through corners like a hippo. Worryingly so! Every big corner everyone would go into the ‘airline crash’ hunch. By 5pm we’d had our first puncture, the bus having been jacked up with everyone in it, and an hour later the spare tyre was on. The second puncture at 8pm wasn’t quite as funny. This time they had to take the whole tyre off and repair the inner tube with spit and a banana leaf.
Bouncing, pretty livid, sweaty but trying to have a laugh, we arrived into Luang Prabang about midnight so relieved and ready to go to bed after not a lot of sleep for the last 3 days. As we started to head down the steps of the bus, a local said “Luang Prabang? No, 6!”
Six what??? Six more km? Six more minutes? Six more hours? Six more days?? Oh crap! The bouncing, arse numbing, testical squashing, energy sapping, head wobbling dangerous ride was going to continue, through the night, as we’re feeling sick from lack of sleep… Our journey from hell finally came to an end just before 7am the next day. Our same day bus ride had arrived in tact and had got us there before our boat would have, but as we all spent the day recovering, only rousing for an evening beer, there was a lingering sense of wonder. Had it all been a dream/nightmare? If so it’s one that we all hope is not recurring! It’s really no wonder why we all hired a private minibus to gently transport us to our next destination.
Stunning Loas with its huge sheer mountains, covered in bright green jungle and cool rivers running below just happens to be the most bombed country in the world. ‘That’s crazy!’ I here you say, but yes, during that small conflict known as the Vietnam war that raged through this region for 10 years, the US bombed the border of Laos in search of the Ho Chi Minh trail so much that by the end of it they’d dropped 2 million tonnes of bombs on this tiny country, more than all bombs dropped in World War 2. One thing they may have got right was the location of our next stop- Vang Vieng. Located in the middle of northern Laos, the Vang Vieng river runs peacefully through fields and jungle, but you get this locked in feeling from the mountains surrounding you from every side. Back in the old days the US built a runway here (you can still see it today) so B52’s could bring in supplies. From a small Laotian village to a military supply depot to a sleepy hippy town, Vang Vieng is now a tourist mecca.
Mark and Benji travelled here 4 years ago when floating down the slow flowing Vang Vieng river in a truck tyre inner tube was all the rage. You’d be dropped into the river north of town, and slowly float down in the sun, looking up and admiring your remote location, and best of all, locals had set-up small bars on the side of the river from bamboo with a small chilli-bin ready to sell you Beer Lao. You could now float serenely down this beautiful valley with a beer in your hand. Brilliant!
Today, tubing is a completely different experience, but not necessarily worse. We had a ridiculous time! Dropped into the river with our multinational group, it was about 15 seconds before locals holding huge sticks were ready to pull us into shore for a beer. The bamboo bar had turned into a huge bamboo deck, a bamboo truss in the river held up a huge rope swing (that if poorly judged, was going to hurt you for the rest of the day) and massive speakers belting out techno tunes. This was an all out party! That day there were approximately 140 drunk (from the local whisky), excited (from the red bull) tourists dancing around and jumping off crazy rope swings into the river. At one place along the river, a fresh-off -the -boat English DJ was pumping your favourite party beats with his slogan of (yu sayit, I playit, all niht lung). Just next to the huge speakers was a volley ball court… of pure mud. It didn’t take long till we were sliding through the mud and having mud fights. You’d then clamber up a tree and try their rapid flying fox to jump into the water and wash yourself off. If only Health and Safety could see this!!! By the time it all finished, we were floating through the dark, looking for the lights of the town at around 730pm. Magic day. That night over a pizza, we watched Liverpool beat Man City 3-2. It was the best day in all of Scouser’s life.
The next day was of course a bit lazy, but Vang Vieng caters for that too. There are a few bars that play re-runs of Friends ALL DAY, so you can sit there, and in about two days watch 100 hours of Friends from series 1 to series 10 while eating and drinking the day away. Sad, but SO addictive. I’m still in love with Rachel, and Ross is still a whiney gimp.
Unfortunately, like all good things, our extended week of multinational madness came to an end after Vang Vieng. Vietnam and Cambodia were still to be leaped across as well as the incorporation of a couple of female additions to the Leapfrog camp. Our pressing schedule had us bussing back south to Bangkok in time for a flight to the heart of Southern Asia and the plentiful land of the scooter – Saigon.
